


Across the Aisle

by dancetildawnmon, ironbabe, underscoredom



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, F/F, F/M, M/M, Politics, West Wing AU, White House AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 76,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancetildawnmon/pseuds/dancetildawnmon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironbabe/pseuds/ironbabe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/underscoredom/pseuds/underscoredom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(White House/West Wing AU)<br/>It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Election Night

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, wow. So this happened. This [GIF set](http://ironmima.tumblr.com/post/34276693892/the-avengers-superhusbands-white-house-au) became so popular on Tumblr that we (my co-authors and I) just had to do this. It's just too fantastic of an idea to pass up, and no one was claiming ownership to fic it, so we took matters into our own hands. 
> 
> Disclaimer: none of us live in the United States. I've studied American politics, so partially that's where all this madness is coming from, but we're only enthusiasts. Please do not skin us alive for any errors that we will commit. We've done a heck of a lot of research going into this, so we're doing the best as we can to be as accurate as possible.
> 
> Also, we're pulling a West Wing and using a completely different timeline (hence the 2011 elections) to disassociate this fic from real-time US politics. We'd like some breathing ground from the real thing.
> 
> With that said, there will be West Wing references.
> 
> A lot of people have also been criticizing our choice of Steve as a Republican. For fans of The Newsroom, think of him as a McAvoy Republican. Or for West Wing fans, a Vinnick one. Trust me, this decision was not made lightly and has an [interesting explanation](http://ironmima.tumblr.com/post/34487166409/the-avengers-superhusbands-white-house-au) to it.
> 
> You guys can also check out [this page](http://ironmima.tumblr.com/tagged/AU) if you want to drop a word, make a suggestion, or check out character backstories that we will be putting out from time to time. 
> 
> We started writing the first chapter late October. This is going to be a slow one, folks. 
> 
> Alright. Well. I can tell this is going to be insane. Enjoy the show, everyone.

_Hyatt Place_  
 _Columbus, Ohio_  
 _Election Night 2011_

Thor’s back is hunched, hands gripping tightly, almost angrily, on the backrest of the chair in front of him. He’s trying hard to tune out the nervous, high-strung voices outside his room, because he can hardly think straight with all this commotion. One of the ten television screens is flashing red and blue on his face but he’s not paying any attention to it. He’s thinking about numbers. He finds it funny how numbers can mean so much in this country—how much, how many, too much, too little—and on a day like this, it’s the only thing that matters. But tomorrow those numbers will still be numbers, and sooner or later they will disappear into a sea of even more numbers, forgotten until someone digs them up again and remembers the how and the why. It’s funny yet disappointing how the issues can become just numbers, only to be abandoned and replaced by new numbers, until the issues themselves drown in the ocean of It Hardly Matters Anymore.

He looks back at the whole campaign; the past year and half that almost took his soul as payment for talking about the issues, the real ones, not just the numbers, because he knows what it feels like to be just a number among other numbers. He knows what it feels like to be data, to be statistics. He didn’t work this hard, to come so far, only to fall into the same trap that politicians before him fell into. He wanted to make sure that the numbers became more than just numbers. He wanted to make sure that the numbers are seen as what they truly are—people.

But numbers are, after all, still numbers, and tonight those numbers, unfortunately for Thor, make the decision.

“Thor?” There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder and he knows it’s his beloved. Jane has been such a force to be reckoned with during the whole campaign that he can’t even begin to imagine not having her around. She would be the perfect First Lady, if she was only given the chance—beautiful, intelligent, eloquent and passionate, among other things—but she will always be his lady love, his rock and comfort. Maybe she won’t be the First Lady and maybe he won’t be the President of the United States, but he knows that he has become a much better man because she was there by his side throughout the whole campaign. For now, that’s more than enough.

His grip on the chair loosens in resignation and he turns to face Jane, gives her a tired smile. “Yes, my love?”

She returns the smile. Hers, though, is a sad one. “They’re ready to call Florida.”

 _Do or die._ Thor takes a deep breath _,_ buttons his suit jack and slips his hand into Jane’s. They started this together and they will end this together, no matter what the outcome. She leads him out of the master bedroom and into the living area to join the staff. Everyone is quiet, waiting on the edge of their seats for the news.

“We are now prepared to call Florida’s 29 electoral votes for Senator Steven Rogers.” The reporter’s voice echoes in a room that has suddenly gone very still. “With 277 electoral votes, Senator Steven Rogers of New Hampshire is now the President-elect of the United States of America.”

Jane looks up at him, unsurprised yet expectant, and he only grips her hand tighter in response. They knew it would all boil down to Florida. They had tried to create an edge by spending the last days of his campaign there, but their efforts, it seems, weren’t enough. There’s sadness and disappointment in his chest, but, well—you win some, you lose some. He smiles at Jane, kisses her forehead, and turns to the staff that had worked so hard these past eighteen months. 

“My friends,” he begins. “I am certain that you are all dismayed at the results of tonight’s election. Unfortunately, this is the game we have all chosen play, and in this game there will always be a winner and a loser. It is regrettable that we are on the losing end of the stick, but on the bright side, we lost to a formidable and deserving foe.” He pauses, waits for his words to register on their gloomy faces. Many of them nod in acceptance.

“This has been quite the journey, and I honestly could not have done it without this fantastic group of talented and passionate people. You all have very bright futures ahead of you, and if I could employ all of you under my office, I would.” There’s a smattering of laughter. “I fervently hope that you continue on this path that we have walked on during the campaign. Our government needs more young people like you, people who want nothing more than a better future for the next generation. I could not thank you enough.” They all applaud. 

“And I think my Jane will agree with me when I say that I hope I don’t see your faces for the next couple of weeks.” There is laughter again, but this time it’s livelier. “Have a few minutes to yourselves before we all walk down to the ballroom together. Thank you, everyone. Job well done.” Another applause, and the staff break off to hug each other and offer sympathies.

Thor takes Jane in his arms and releases a sigh of both relief and weariness. “What an adventure.”

She chuckles and says, “It’s never anything less with you.” She kisses him softly on the lips. “I’m proud of you.”

“I could not have done it without you, my love.”

“Of course you couldn’t.” Thor laughs. “You can barely find your socks without me.”

He breaks into a smile, the first one of the night that genuinely expresses happiness. “Truer words never spoken.” And he knows deep in his heart that all shall be well.

“Senator?”

Thor turns to the voice. “Natasha. How are we doing tonight?”

“Seeing as we just lost the White House, not so good,” she tells him in discontent, but obviously attempting to smile. “But at least it’s not all bad news.”

“Ah, yes. Have you phoned Tony yet?”

“After your concession speech.” She extends her hand to the door. “Shall we? There’s a ballroom full of depressed and dejected people waiting for you.”

“Well then,” Thor offers Jane his arm and she takes it. “Let’s try to lift their spirits up. It’s not all bad news, as you said.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow and her eyes twinkle mischievously. “Oh, you bet, Senator.”

//

_Stark Residence_  
 _Malibu, California_  
 _Election Night 2011_

The atmosphere in the house is festive, though a little sullen because of Thor’s devastating loss. No one will dare to admit that it had been expected—the campaign didn’t spend as much time in Florida as they should have—but it’s still depressing to know that they had the White House at the palm of their hands, only to be taken away from them by a Republican who only managed to win the hearts of America with his blonde locks and charisma. That they lost to him will always make Tony puke a little in his mouth. He hasn’t even started running the country and Tony already hates the guy.

But whatever happens, nothing will rain on his parade tonight. It was only a little bit over an hour ago when California news agencies announced that he had won his sixth term in Congress with a whopping 76 percent of the vote, so the celebrations will definitely go on despite the party’s major loss. 

He’s in the doorway between the terrace and the spacious living room, watching the people eat his food and drink his booze, and he actually could not be any happier to see about two dozen political staffers lose it a little. He thinks back on his life a little, on the path he’s chosen to take, the decisions he’s chosen to make, and tells himself that whatever shit he’s been through, it’s all been worth it. Despite the losses and the disappointments and the failures, it’s all been very, very worth it.

He spots his assistant, Kate Bishop, squeezing through a crowd of rowdy interns. Her frustrated face says that she’s been looking for him for quite some time now. He waves at her in acknowledgement. “Hello, pooh bear. Miss me?”

“Not in the slightest.” She shoves a phone into his empty hand. “Here. Natasha called while I was maneuvering through the Istanbul Grand Bazaar—that is, the first floor of your house. She’s been on hold for ten minutes.”

Tony’s eyes widen in slight fear. “Shit.” It’s never good to keep Natasha Romanoff waiting, no matter what the excuse. “I’m blaming this on you,” he tells Kate as she rolls her eyes and saunters off into the crowd. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he greets the DNC National Chairman a little too enthusiastically. “Natasha!”

“You know better than to keep me waiting, Stark.”

“I’m so sorry, it’s been a whirlwind of a night,” he tries to explain. There’s no response from the other line. He tries again. “It was Kate’s fault?”

He can practically feel her rolling her eyes. “Shut up, Stark.” There’s an affectionate tone to her voice, so he knows he’s off the hook for now. “Congratulations on the win—76 percent of the vote. That’s something to be proud of.”

“After all these years, you’re still surprised? You know how much my constituents love me.” He turns to the crowd inside his house, raises his glass of club soda and yells, “California!”

“CALIFORNIA!” they all yell back.

“See?”

“Maybe we should have mandatory psych evaluations for your district. I’m not at all sure that any of your constituents are sane,” she teases.

“Aha, you should know never to bite the hand that feeds you, sweetheart.” Natasha laughs from the other side of the line and Tony smiles. The fierce party chair rarely laughs, rarely shows any emotion at all aside from indifferent, annoyed, or completely pissed off, so her laugh is a sound to cherish. It is pretty infections and heartening, after all, strangely fitting for her gripping good looks. “How’s the senator?”

He hears her sigh and the tone of the conversation changes slightly. “Disappointed, obviously, as with the rest of the party. But you know Thor, always looking at the silver lining.”

Tony snickers. “We’re going to have a Republican administration. I don’t think there is a silver lining.”

“You’re forgetting we’ve taken back the House,” she tells him in a sing-song voice. He can practically hear her smiling wickedly from the other end.

“You don’t need to remind me, I’m already on an election high. Wish I had been in the room with Maria Hill when the news outlets announced it. Her face would have been priceless,” Tony tells her, vengeful satisfaction evident in his every word.

Natasha pauses. “You know the Speakership is yours, don’t you?”

“I’d be surprised if I didn’t have it in the bag already,” Tony tells her honestly. He hears glass breaking from inside the house. “My house is turning into a frat party.”

“That’s one piece of news I’m definitely not surprised to hear anymore.”

Tony ignores that. “Anything on the other twenty-three seats still in contention?” He spots Pepper from the other side of the room and tries to grab her attention by waving ostentatiously.

“They’ll be calling it soon. We’re looking at more or less 250 seats. That should keep the Republicans in line, don’t you think?” Natasha asks, her voice dripping with Machiavellian undertones. 

“Have I ever told you how glad I am that we’re on the same side?”

“Not often enough, honeybunch.”

Pepper finally spots him and begins to make her way towards the terrace doorway. “I’ll be on the first flight out tomorrow, so I’ll see you on the Hill,” he informs Natasha. 

“You know, I’d never thought I’d say this, but I’m excited to be working with you, Stark.”

Tony smiles to himself. “Likewise, Miss Romanoff.” And they both hang up. “Pep!” he greets the tall redhead. “Congratulations on the reelect.”

“To both of us, really.” She gives him a peck on the cheek. “This is turning out to be quite the party.”

“I’ll blame it on Kate in the morning.” He spies his assistant from the corner of his eye doing shots of god knows what with the interns and shakes his head. He will definitely blame this on Kate somehow, but he’s got to admit it has leveled up to be something else, and hell, you only win congressional elections once every two years, so you might as well make a gigantic party out of it. “That was Natasha on the phone, by the way.”

Pepper raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Are you two scheming already?”

“We’re going to have a Republican in the White House. ‘Be prepared’ is going to be my mantra for the next four years,” he reasons out.

Pepper answers by rolling her eyes. “And so will probably ‘that shit cray.’”

“I work in the United States House of Representatives, Pep. All that shit is cray.”

She smacks his arm playfully. “God, you’re impossible.”

“We’ve known each other for twenty years. That’s hardly breaking news.”

“Tell me about it,” she jokes and takes one last sip of her drink. “Anyway, I really just wanted to drop by to pass on my congratulations to everyone.” She kisses him on the cheek. “I’ll see you in DC.”

“Bye, Pep. See ya.” He watches as she bids a few more friends goodbye and exits through the front door.

Tony takes one final swig of his drink and sets it down on the table next to him. The crowd in his house is gathering in front of the gigantic TV screen in the living room. “They’re ready to call the final numbers!” Kate screams from somewhere in the mass of people. It’s quiet all of a sudden, and then a jubilant howl erupts. Tony can barely hear anything over the merrymaking.

_“…186 to the Republican Party and 249 seats to the Democrats. The Democratic Party has officially regained comfortable control of the House…”_

Tony smiles deviously at the television screen. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and that’s one thing he can cook up locked in a cave for three months with nothing but scraps of metal and a car battery stuck to his chest.

//

_Raddison Hotel_  
 _Manchester, New Hampshire_  
 _Election Night 2011_

He’s had the same picture in his wallet since the last semester of his senior year at Georgetown. It is, predictably, of Peggy, taken during that unforgettable spring break in New Hampshire. While the rest of the senior class went to Miami, Santorini, or wherever rich kids usually spent their spring break, Steve and Peggy were holed up in Uncle’s Michael’s farm about an hour and a half away from Manchester, doing nothing but living the apple pie life. In the picture, Peggy is in the kitchen, covered in flour, icing, sugar, and god knows what else. She’s laughing and there had been pies strewn everywhere—they were (supposedly) pecan pies, Steve remembers vividly, his favorite—and none of them had been edible. Peggy’s never been a good cook or baker, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right? In the end, they gave up, cleaned the kitchen and had Aunt Hannah bake, which was what they should have done in the first place. 

Clutching his wallet and gazing at the picture, Steve can’t remember a time when he was happiest, most contented, than in those stolen moments with Peggy. It’s not the passion or the intensity of making love that he misses the most, but rather the adoring smiles, the hearty laughter, the slow mornings in the kitchen, the quiet evenings in the living room. It’s the victorious times like these where he hurts, aches for Peggy and her warm touch and reassuring eyes. 

“I’m already married to you,” she would say. “What’s a little more insanity in my life?” He’d kiss the top of her head and laugh because oh, he’s the luckiest man in the world to have the most amazing woman by his side.

“We did it, Peg,” he whispers to the picture. “We did it.”

He sits alone in the master bedroom of his suite, trying his very best not to cry. The past year and a half is all a haze of long hours and buses and aircraft hangers and blue and red in his mind. He’s never liked the campaign trail, not when Uncle Michael did it during his youth, and most certainly not when he did it when he ran for Senate after his uncle’s death. During his first two terms, he had Peggy to lean on to, to gather strength from, and he survived all the madness because of her. This time around, he’s barely breathing. 

There’s a soft knock on his door and the sound doesn’t register in his head at first. The door creaks and a head pops in. “Mr. President-elect?” inquires a gentle voice.

He jolts out of his reverie and turns to face the door. It’s Bruce, his campaign manager, and will most likely be the White House Chief of Staff. Steve laughs softly at his usage of the new title. “I’m having a hard time getting used to being called that.”

Bruce chuckles and walks in. “I don’t think you have a choice, sir. The American people have spoken.”

“You’re right about that.” He stands up and tucks his wallet in the back pocket of his slacks. “Did you need something?”

“Nothing, really. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

Steve gives him a tired smile. “I’m exhausted, for one.”

“You and the rest of us, sir,” Bruce sympathizes. “More than half the staff’s crashed already, I think.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s been a tough campaign, especially these last few weeks.”

“You’re doing alright?”

Steve sighs wearily. “Yeah, I just…I can’t remember the last time I had more than four hours of sleep.”

“Nick Fury wanted to call a strategy meeting for tomorrow,” Bruce tells him with a gentle laugh. “I told him to wait two or three days, let the staff catch their breath.”

“Thank you for that. It’s going to be a nightmare tomorrow. Fury’s face is one that I will most definitely not want to see,” Steve jokes.

“I figured.” Bruce moves closer to the President-elect who is now by the window, looking out into the Manchester night. “You miss her,” he states cautiously.

The picture in his wallet is suddenly hot on his rear, and Peggy’s absence is all too palpable to him now. During the time he has known him, Bruce has never stepped out of line, but he has always called things as he saw them, and Steve’s never been good with hiding his emotions. He has always worn his heart on his sleeve, and he’s pretty damn sure that his yearning for Peggy’s presence is all too evident on his face. “Did you know that she was the one who convinced me to run? I didn’t want another term in the Senate, and when Fury came to me and asked me if I wanted to run for President, I was halfway out the door already. But Peggy was convinced that I’d make a good President, that it would be good for the party and the country. She died before I could make a decision.”

“And in the end you chose to run.” Bruce pauses, takes a moment to think. “For her?”

“ _Because_ of her.” Steve takes a deep breath. “She was the one great force in my life. She made me feel invincible, like I could do anything with her by my side. You see, after everything I went through during my tours, she made me believe that we still have the power to make this country a better one, even with all the crap that’s happening. She gave me hope. She made me believe that all of this is going be worth it in the end. It’s just that now.” His voice is suddenly softer, “I sometimes don’t think it will be, not without Peggy to share it with.”

Bruce rests an assuring hand on the President-elect’s tense shoulder. “You’ve done a magnificent thing. You’ve inspired crowds, had them chant your name with loud voice, and lifted them off their feet. You won the presidency against all odds. The road ahead will be long and difficult, but I’ll bet my life that Peggy will be with you every step of the way. And if she could, she’d be kicking your ass right now for thinking all these pessimistic thoughts.”

Steve laughs loudly. “You’re right about that.”

“None of us would be here without you. None of us would be here if we didn’t believe in your vision. And so help me god if 64.9 million Americans don’t believe in it, too.” The President-elect says nothing. Bruce tightens his clutch on Steve’s shoulder. “I’ve known you for years. You wouldn’t have done this if it didn’t feel right.”

Steve closes his eyes, thinks of Peggy and the pitter-patter of rain on the windowsills of their home. He realizes that although he still aches for Peggy, wants nothing more in this world that for her to be here again, he finally gets it. He may have had his uncertainties at the beginning, but he feels it seeping through his skin—this is _right_. That with Phil and Bruce and the rest of his staff, they can do great things. He will always think of Peggy and a First Lady-less White House, but he knows that is where he’s supposed to be at this very moment. 

“Yes,” Steve whispers. “Thank you, Bruce. For everything.”

“I serve at the pleasure of the President-elect.” Bruce takes him in for a hug. “I’ll leave you to rest. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“I’m dreading it already.” 

“You and I both, sir,” Bruce says with a chuckle. “Good night.” He closes the door behind him, leaving Steve alone once again.

Despite his head spinning, reeling from tonight’s mix of heavy emotions, he goes to sleep knowing that tomorrow won’t be easy, but maybe, just maybe, it will all be worth it in the end.


	2. Ready, Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, 8 days! Not bad, right? Unfortunately, however, one of us will be away for a UN Convention and we probably won't be able to update in the next three weeks. We do have some surprises in store for you to tide you over during the wait, so check out [this page](http://ironmima.tumblr.com/tagged/AU) on November 30th and December 7th!
> 
> A point of concern was raised in the comments section of the previous chapter regarding 2011 as the year of the Presidential elections. We'd like to reiterate that we're using a completely different timeline (not unlike what the writers did for the West Wing) in order for the three of us to write more flexibly with regard to the hot topic issues in US politics today. Though we will be, of course, inventing our own relevant issues.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for the wonderful feedback, and we hope your patience lasts until the end of the series.
> 
> UPDATE 11/30/12: [Tony Stark's short biography](http://ironmima.tumblr.com/post/36871082082/the-avengers-superhusbands-white-house-au) has now been posted on Tumblr!
> 
> UPDATE 12/07/12: [2011 Presidential Election Results](http://ironmima.tumblr.com/post/37398638367/the-avengers-superhusbands-white-house-au) has now been posted on Tumblr!
> 
> UPDATE 01/01/13: I know you guys hate us for not having updated in more than a month, but [here is an explanation](http://ironmima.tumblr.com/post/39358130066/concerning-whitehouseau).

_Washington DC_  
_March 2012_

Anthony E. Stark, Speaker of the United States House of Representatives, is not a morning person, never has been. He has never really figured out where he had inherited the habit of being a complete zombie before noon—he remembers being very active as a kid, always eager to get up in the morning to play with his new toys and explore new things, always energetic, innovative and imaginative. He guesses that it must have started during his teenage years when his dad had put him in under so much pressure as the apparent heir of Stark Industries. Those years ultimately became his downfall, or maybe even his salvation, because he realized that he did not want to end up like his father—a sad, bitter man who thought only about himself—nor end up in the shadow of the Stark name.

He has never really understood why he chose politics out of all the things he could have done. Maybe because it’s lightyears away from the world that had kept him in between four walls closing in on him, the world that made him afraid of the light that even until now, he still can’t face the mornings. He can’t look at the world in all its brokenness. He can’t look at himself in all _his_ brokenness. But he grew up in the world of engineering. He grew up in the world of fixing things, of looking at problems from all angles and then diving in to try to make things right again. That’s why, even though he’s not a morning person, he always, always wakes up in the morning, makes his coffee, watches the morning news, and then tries to save his country from damnation one day at a time.

Well, that's what he tells the journalists, pundits, and the morning talk show hosts. Armed with his signature smile, they'll print his words and quote his morning routine anecdote. Not that he doesn’t do any of those things. The truth is rather less glamorous and noble than it sounds. But, hey, what happens behind closed doors stays there. As long as JARVIS is still programmed to promise not to breathe a word of it, no one needs to know it takes him half an hour to actually make it out of bed first.

//

"Good morning, sir. The weather today is at a chilly 45 degrees Fahrenheit. Shall I have your car ready?" 

Tony groans in reply and rolls over, throwing the closest pillow into the direction of JARVIS. As per usual, that translates into Tony throwing the pillow in whichever direction he wants, while half his mind starts conceptualizing a side project to create a holograph of JARVIS, just so he can actually throw his pillow at someone. Ish. Throw his pillow at someone-ish and god, it is too early to think about this. Too early to think about anything at all. Of course, JARVIS begs to differ.

"Might I remind you of your 9AM appointment with Miss Potts and company, sir?"

Tony groans out another set of nonsensical syllables in reply. He thinks about adding a sleep feature to JARVIS' holographic attribute, just so the bastard can feel what it's like to have his sleep interrupted. He does attempt to at least open his eyes this time. Attempts and succeeds, which is awesome, except he has no one to high five him for that. Maybe he really should work on making JARVIS holographic. It has been some time since he's had a side project. Not that he minds it, what with all the other things at the office that has been keeping him on his toes. Rather, the things his party has been doing to keep the Republican side of the House on their toes.

"I'm sorry, sir, but despite your best efforts, you have yet to make me fluent in morning gibberish."

"Cheek," Tony grumbles, rolling onto his back and onto the other side of the bed closer to the window, hoping that the sun will force him to get up. Of course, when he had the house renovated, he made sure to have the position smack down in the middle, so that becomes wishful thinking. "Someone should have a word with your maker."

"Shall I have Ms. Bishop pencil you in for two o’ clock?"

//

He goes to work with the second coffee of the day in his hand and a bagel in mouth. He’s still groggy and zoned out when he is greeted by animated babbling as he walks inside his office. His assistant, Kate Bishop, is already at her desk, chatting away with someone who doesn’t register in his head at first, already too lively in the morning for Tony’s tastes.

That someone is Darcy Lewis, assistant to Clint Barton, whose office, as far as Tony knows, is in another building at the other end of the Capitol. Yet, here she is, trading smiles with Kate in between trading words, perched on her desk, with her trademark red lips and, eugh—

"You ever plan on getting rid of those ridiculous hipster glasses, Lewis?"

Darcy turns. Kate's fingers continue to fly across her tablet, as she seems to be taking down note of what information she had been trading with Darcy before he called their attention.

"Mr. Stark," Darcy purrs, not even daring to hop off of Kate's desk. "Late, as per schedule, but not even fashionably so. Are you ever going to rid of those stupid orange aviators?"

"Kate, I see you've gotten yourself a new pet while I was away." Kate looks up, placing her tablet beside the keyboard. She gives Tony a challenging smirk.

"What can I say? Darcy makes the effort to come in on time."

"I was just telling my sweetie pie over here to avoid mentioning Natasha to Clint during the immediate future. Amongst other things."

"What? Is that about— wait, your sweetie pie? She's my assistant!"

"Yes, but Darcy is the one who leaves bite marks where she promises she wouldn't. And I told you to stop calling me that." Kate gives Darcy a stern look, complete with a perfectly arched eyebrow. Darcy laughs and actually bops a finger on his assistant's nose.

"That was one time, sweetie. And don't tell me it wasn't worth having Senator Logan lose his bet with Wade."

"Don't forget Vegas," Kate adds although her tone becomes less admonishing. Darcy gets a wistful look on her face as she gazes somewhere in the past. Knowing Kate, it probably involved a luxury hotel with a penthouse room and maybe a trip to the Red Rock Canyon. Knowing Darcy, it might have involved casinos and maybe making out at the Red Rock Canyon.

"Yeah, that was the best." Definitely involved making out at the Red Rock Canyon, going by her sigh. It implies a desire for a repeat performance and Tony is taken to staring at Kate and Darcy with a look of bewilderment. Kate catches his expression and she laughs, playfully smacking Darcy off her desk. Darcy complies, smoothing down her skirt.

"Look what you did to my boss. Now he's going to spend the rest of his day and resources looking for that sex video we took instead of trying to block the new fascist education reform bill like he's supposed to." The words she aims at Tony are sharp and precise. It knocks him out perfectly from his daze.

“Are you kidding? Forget the state of the nation! How have I not known you two were dating? How have I not known you two made a sex video?” Tony looks scandalized, but only because he has not been informed of this.

“We’ve only been dating for a couple of months. With the number of shit we’ve had to put up with since the elections, we haven’t really found the time to tell people. Relax, Tony. There is no video,” Kate says.

“Not yet,” Darcy is quick to add.

Tony fumes, although it is coated with affection and not heat. He goes on about how they could have celebrated. How Tony would have had a big parade dedicated just for them and he’d get away with it, because he is the Speaker of the House after all.

“Tony,” Kate interrupts him in the middle of his rave. “Shut up. As your assistant, I am advising you that that would be a terrible political move. As your friend, I’m telling you that that is just tacky when a bottle of your most expensive wine will suffice.” He huffs but stops talking.

“Fine, be that way. At least make the sex video in Hill’s office?” he suggests. Darcy gets a glint in her eyes that Tony approves of. Kate narrows her eyes at the pair of them.

“Noted, but don’t bank on it,” she says. “Now shoo, before Clint starts looking lost. You know how grumpy he is first thing in the morning.”

“Are you referring to how he usually looks?” Darcy asks. Kate lightly butts her head against Darcy’s waist, in an attempt to get her moving. It’s the first affectionate action they’ve been free to make since dating. Darcy runs her fingers through Kate’s hair, messing it up. She gives Tony a challenging look before leaning down to press a kiss on top of Kate’s head. Tony’s smirk softens into a sincere smile.

“Hey guys, seriously. Congrats. Expensive wine on me.” Kate pulls back and laughs.

“Oh god, we’ve turned him soft. Go, before both our bosses lose their minds.” Darcy laughs and waves at them, making her way to Clint’s office. Tony turns to Kate once Darcy turns around the corner.

“You’re happy, though, right?” he asks, in a moment of genuine concern. He loves both ladies but he will always have Kate’s back. Kate, in reply, snorts at him and that is enough for him to know that he’s asked a stupid question. Of course, it’s a stupid question. Kate isn’t the kind of person to be pushed into things. He smiles and shrugs. Kate smiles in return.

She also holds out two tablets. These are different from the standard tablet given out. A deceitful panel of glass, with a dark red border, rounded at the corners; it was another one of Tony’s side projects and these two are specifically for work. It responds only to Kate and Tony. She hands him Tony’s and they both unlock their gadgets. 

“Here are the new unemployment numbers which I assume you will be happily blaming on the President to the next reporter you see; the defense report from the Pentagon with a note from Rhodey asking you to call him; a very angry message from Congressman Barnes about a million and one things he’s always going on about; and Pepper, Janet and Wade are already waiting for you in the conference room.” Kate opens a few files and slides it to Tony’s direction. It shows up on his tablet and he opens the folder, documents piling up in grids, divided by importance.

“Thanks,” he tells her as Kate takes off his coat. “Hold all my calls for the next half hour.” He hands her his briefcase and heads toward the conference room at the other end of the Speaker’s office.

“Oh wow, he is actually only slightly late to the meeting today. I’m impressed, Stark. Miracles do happen,” Wade Wilson greets him.

The two women in the room laugh. “Good morning, Tony,” Janet Van Dyne says, and Pepper only smiles at him.

“The both of you,” Tony tells the ladies, hands raised to frame their faces. “Exquisite. What a sight for the sore eyes.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “No need to keep flirting, Tony, you’ve already slept with the both of us.” She takes a sip from her coffee and inclines her head, eyebrow raised as if to challenge Tony.

Tony simply shrugs. His promiscuity is probably the worst-kept secret in Washington. “Just trying to lighten the mood. You have grim expressions on your faces.” 

“It’s going to be a long day full of bad news, Tony. You’ll wipe that smile off your face soon enough,” Janet says with a sigh.

“Which is basically everyday of my sordid existence. Well then.” He sits down and opens the files set aside for him. “Shall we begin?”

“Before anything else,” Wade interjects. “Let’s congratulate Janet for a job well done on the Carbon Emissions Reduction Act. After the vote this afternoon, we will have angered and alienated both the car and oil industries, hooray!”

Everyone claps and Tony catcalls as Janet does small bow. “Thank you, thank you. All in a day’s work, my friends.” 

“That’s about it for today’s good news,” Pepper announces seriously. “We’re going to have a problem with the new Women’s Health Act,” she tells them without preamble.

Tony groans. Must be a Thursday. “What the hell are the Republicans trying to do now?”

“Maria Hill and her minions managed to insert a school prayer amendment into the bill,” Pepper informs them with a grimace on her face.

“What do they want for it?” Wade asks. He’s already formulating a plan in his head on how to proceed.

“Contraceptives,” Pepper admits almost painfully. “They said religious institutions should not be forced by law to provide free contraceptives as part of employee health plans.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised, actually. This is completely Maria Hill’s MO,” Janet confesses, and they all agree. “The bill will never pass with a school prayer amendment, not with a Democratic House. So what’s our gameplan?” 

“Wait, hold on a second. Does anyone not see what the Republicans are trying to do here?” Tony asks the room after a beat.

Wade thinks for a moment and then smiles to himself. “They’re trying to distract us.”

Pepper and Janet look at each other in confusion, but then a wave of realization sweeps across their faces. “The budget request,” Janet says. 

“The Women’s Health Act is a Democratic bill that’s fairly popular with the voters. They want us to try to save it by putting all influential hands on deck,” Pepper adds.

“Thus completely diverting our attention from the President’s budget request, which should be handed to Congress anytime today, to a bill the Republicans know will pass in the House without any of their votes,” Wade finishes. “You’ve got to admit, the plan’s not half bad.”

“But clearly not carefully thought out. They’re forgetting the one important thing that’s dangling in front of their faces, and we've been saying it over and over again: it’s a Democratic House. We get to write the budget no matter what fucked up amendments they throw at us,” Tony tells them, straightforward with no bullshit attached.

Pepper thinks about it for a bit. “Let me talk to Hill.”

“Are you sure about that?” Wade asks her. “You know that woman hates you as much as she hates Tony.”

“All the more reason for her to go,” Tony suggests. “Hill gets riled up when Pepper argues with her. She loses her composure, which exposes her weaknesses. Pep should go.” He makes a few notes on his tablet. “And I’ll talk to Clint, ask him to take the temperature of the bill in the Senate.” They all nod in agreement. “Are we good? Then meeting is adjourned.”

The ladies exit the conference room first, leaving the boys to gather their things and have a little locker room talk. “I think I’ve figured out why the Republicans hate us so much,” Wade says after having admired Pepper’s and Janet’s gracefulness as they left the Speaker’s office.

“Birth control, taxes, gay marriage, and implied atheism?” Tony asks neutrally.

Wade laughs. “Close, but no. I think it’s because we’ve got the sexiest and most gorgeous women in our party, and they only have Maria Hill.”

Tony shrugs. “She could be hot, you know, if she removed that stick up her ass and loosened up a little.”

They stare at each other for a moment, thoughtful. Then they both shake their heads. “Nah,” Tony says. “She could never be hot.”

“As long as she’s not in our party,” Wade says with a chuckle. “Anyway, I’ll see you on the floor later.”

Wade salutes, turns around, leaves the conference room and bids Kate goodbye. Tony takes a deep breath, composes himself and his thoughts, readying himself for the day ahead. “Kate!” he calls out to his assistant. “What’s next?”

Kate steps out, checking the tablet and informs Tony that he's supposed to meet with the Black Caucus in fifteen minutes. He has to suppress the groan that desperately wants to escape because it may be past breakfast time already but this still falls under Too Early For This Shit in Tony’s opinion. “Fine, fine, okay. Also, can you place a call for me to Barton? I need to talk to him about the Women’s Health Act—“

“He isn’t in yet, actually,” Kate says, and there’s that hint of _I know something you don’t_ in her voice that makes Tony both love and her and want to shake her. Yup, really too early in the morning for anything.

“Where is he?”

“I’m not sure, but Darcy has an idea. Just remember not to mention Natasha in front of him.” Kate says with her eyebrow raised, like Tony’s a child he needs constant reminding, like she’s daring him to go on and ask some more. Tony realizes then that it’s not only because the women on their side are the sexiest and most gorgeous, it’s also because they’re the most fucking _terrifying_.

“I got it, I got it,” Tony says, his hands raised in supplication. Honestly. He’d get a new assistant if Kate wasn’t the best of the best. “Just make sure he knows I need to talk to him.”

//

It’s 9:33 in the morning. Clint’s got seven missed calls (ergo a lot of angry voicemail) and about twelve messages from Darcy in varying degrees of annoyance. There are two messages from Tony care of Kate. He knows he’s late for work—they both are—but Natasha is in the shower and he’s knotting his tie in the mirror, and he figures they’ll make it to the Hill by 10. The alarm didn’t go off, which is strange. This entire morning already feels off, mainly because last night wasn’t exactly supposed to have happened. Not again.

They’ve been playing this weird sort of dance for about nine months, where sometimes Tasha comes over and they discuss business and Clint thinks that maybe that’s all they are: colleagues, friends, and then she throws him completely off-guard by leaning into him when they laugh over that time the Republicans tried to convince the Senate that pizza is in fact a vegetable. Sometimes he catches _her_ off-guard by leaning in further to kiss her. She always surprises him by kissing him back.

Clint knows that Natasha Romanoff is serious business. Nobody crosses her, not even the Speaker of the House. She dislikes people that make her wait. She likes order. She drinks her coffee black, no sugar. She will rationalize with you when you disagree with her, but she has such a way with words that sometimes, you don’t even realize you’re getting played and swayed by her. There are many reasons why she’s managed to keep her comfortable place on a pillar of respect (and maybe fear, just a little, though most men will not admit to this) for so long. Natasha holds her own, has spent her entire life since her parents died doing so. She wouldn’t have made DNC National Chair if she couldn’t.

Which is why Clint can’t understand what they are exactly. There was a trip she took to New York when this all began nine months back for a party fundraiser and she had spotted him sitting at the bar after the glittery and gorgeous had left the party.

“Senator Barton, do you really have to sit there all morose and dejected?” she had said, sidling up next to him in a black backless dress that really should have been made illegal. “You do know we’re supposed to make people feel happy that they’re helping fund the Democratic Party, right?” 

“Well, given that you’ve graced us with your presence tonight, especially since you invited Kanye West, I’m sure that part’s been taken care of,” Clint had replied. This was usually how the banter started. They would be apart for weeks at a time, and usually without contact beyond work-related emails, but whenever they got a chance to, for some inexplicable reason, Natasha would come to him, and she would spend the night. Clint never asked, never tried push at the boundaries of whatever undefined thing they had because he knew that she wouldn’t let him in, not really.

But he needs to know.

He needs to figure it out because it’s messing with his work (though Tasha doesn’t seem too bothered with this arrangement of work-party-fuck-work repeat). It’s been nine months. Clint knows her favourite perfume. He knows that she only ever sleeps on the right side of the bed. She doesn’t like flowers, hates chocolates except for the champagne-flavoured Royce chocolates that she buys for herself whenever she makes a trip to Japan, and absolutely refuses to invest in a house for herself because she likes the feeling of being transient, of not being held down by mortgage or an actual suburban home.

Clint thinks maybe this is a big red flag for him to not ask what he’s about to ask, but he closes his eyes and steels himself as Natasha walks out of the bathroom, all prim and austere. Her heels clack-clack-clack on the marble floor as she makes her way closer and stands next to him in front of the floor-length mirror, a small smirk already in place on her face.

“I heard your phone go off about ten times,” Natasha says while looking at her reflection in the mirror and pressing her thumb to her lip. There’s a bit of lipstick that’s smudged, and Clint notes that it is so like her to spot it, to want to reach up and fix it. “Why didn’t you answer it?”

“Tash, I think we need to talk about this,” Clint says, catching her stare in the glass before she turns away and searches for her earrings on the stand beside the bed.

He knows his way around this apartment, it’s his. Familiar. Safe. He’s good at navigating this place, he’s good at navigating the rigours of his job. He is completely lost at sea when it comes to Natasha Romanoff. So even if this will hurt, he needs to know. He has all the evidence that they could make a fully functional relationship from this, because he knows they could work well together.

“What ‘this’ are you talking about, Clint?” Natasha scoffs, offers up a fond smile over her shoulder as she locks her earring in place.

“About us.” 

Natasha turns to him, her lips pursed. The fond smile is gone, and Clint braces himself for the words that tidal wave over him, braces himself for it—

“There is no ‘us’.”

“Tash, don’t—there is something, I mean, we—“

“We fuck, Clint. And we work well together. That’s all this really ever was, I thought you knew that.”

Natasha doesn’t look angry, she doesn’t. Her face is drawn into a frown, like she’s genuinely confused, like she’s completely not seeing why or how Clint could even begin to suggest that they were anything but two colleagues that fucked when they (when she, when _she_ , goddammit) felt like it.

“I mean, I know the physical part would maybe make you think, well, Clint, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel that way about you.”

Clint stashes away the plan to take her to Prague. He files away the little things he knows about her—the scar on her knee from when she had been six and scraped it after climbing up a tree, the tick she has in her right pinkie when she can’t stand the conservative prick in front of her spouting another Biblical verse as proof for a bill that he feels shouldn’t be passed. He processes all these little things and stores them away, wraps them in the pain in his chest and swallows them down like a handful of Vicodin without water, keeps swallowing until his throat works again and he can school his features into something that doesn’t make him look like someone massacred his fucking dog in front of him.

“What about Budapest, Tash?” He hates that his voice is small. He hates that he’s a fucking senator, goddammit, he can talk to a crowd of thousands and feel invincible, but in here, Natasha’s reduced him to this.

“I think Budapest means more to you than it did to me, Clint.” Natasha’s using her public voice, the strong kind that she uses at the conventions to thank the donors for their continued support and Clint hates it, he hates it so fucking much but he stays quiet. Her briefcase is already in her hand. She wants to leave, he knows it, so he gives a small cough, nods at his reflection.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Clint replies, and he forces a smile, the kind he reserves for the podiums and the campaigns on a bad day, the kind that he uses for cable television when he has to face a detractor. He knows she doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t care, can’t bring himself to.

 _Professional. Be professional_. He repeats this in his head when they make their way to the staircase. Clint ignores the pressing silence in the foyer, ignores the fact that there is no way to be professional about this right away. He’d taught himself a long time ago that compartmentalizing was an essential life skill. He tries, he really does. 

His phone rings again, ‘Tony Stark’ coming up on his caller-ID, but he ends the call when he settles in the driver’s seat of his Prius. 

“What did Tony want?” Natasha asks, and Clint has to marvel at her ability to pretend that she didn’t just land a fucking spear through his chest ten minutes ago. He sighs, knows it will be a long, long ten minute drive, and floors the gas so he can get into his office and have Darcy batter his ego and then maybe ask her to buy him a cupcake or whatever. He is having a pretty bad day. He deserves a fucking cupcake. 

//

The Minority Leader’s office is abuzz with energetic movement, and Pepper surmises it must be due to the submission of the President’s budget request—a much bigger fight for tomorrow, she thinks, and focuses back on her task at hand. She turns to Maria’s multitasking assistant, who’s clearly busy shuffling through documents on her desk and talking to someone on the phone. “Is she…?” Pepper asks tentatively.

The girl nods distractedly and gestures to the door near her desk. Pepper smiles in gratitude, knocks on the door to the private office and remembers the first rule on dealing with Maria Hill: never walk into her office looking like it’s the end of the world. So Pepper strides in with a snobbish look on her face, determined and resolute.

Hill is seated, signing papers, and she greets Pepper with an unimpressed expression—eyes on alert, mouth forming a thin line. “Congresswoman Potts. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Pepper almost rolls her eyes. “Oh please, Hill. Ignorance does not become you,” she retorts.

Hill sniggers, leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. “I take it this is about Women’s Health Act.”

Pepper moves closer to the desk. “I’m here to tell you to back off, Hill,” she warns the Minority Leader.

“Religious institutions, especially hospitals and universities, should not be required by law to provide contraceptives, which are clearly against their faiths, as part of employee health plans,” Maria says forcefully.

“Says the woman whose religion only apologized for sentencing Galileo to death for scientific truth four hundred and fifty years after the fact,” Pepper snaps. She knows better than to lose her temper in front of Maria Hill—the woman is too familiar with her buttons and knows exactly when to push them—but when it comes to women’s reproductive rights, they’re clearly on both ends of the spectrum, and Pepper, for the life of her, can’t imagine why any woman, let alone someone as strong and independent as Maria Hill, would stand for such misogynistic bullshit.

“I don’t understand why you Republicans have this incessant need to shove your beliefs down everyone’s throats. Most employees of religious hospitals and universities aren’t even Catholic, Hill. Religion is not the issue here. It’s women’s reproductive health, their right to choose for what’s best for their bodies, and it’s the government’s duty to provide women with all the possible options.”

Hill remains unmoved. “I won’t apologize for what I believe in, Potts, and I definitely won’t apologize for acting on it.”

Pepper walks to the edge of the desk and rests her palms on top of it, her expression dark and hostile. She has had enough. “Don’t think for one second that we don’t know what you’re trying to do here, Hill.” She leans in closer. “In case you haven’t noticed, we have a comfortable majority in the House. Your beloved Republican budget will never pass on our floor.”

Hill smirks, seemingly triumphant. “I think you know that your comfortable majority will never pass your Women’s Health Act with a school prayer amendment. That’s why you’re here trying to convince me to withdraw it.”

Pepper laughs loudly. Hill fell right into her trap. “The Women’s Health Act can wait a little while longer, Hill. Your budget can’t.” She can tell she’s ruffled the Minority Leader’s feathers, so she pauses, gives her time to regroup. “So if you don’t back the hell away from our bill, I swear to that ever-loving god you so fervently pray to that we will do everything in our power to raise hell on your President’s beloved budget, and if this government shuts down, we’ll make sure that the whole country knows that the blame is entirely on your side of the aisle.” Maria is speechless, and the threat swells the tension around the two women.

Pepper smoothens imaginary creases on her dress and smiles sweetly at Hill. “Just a friendly reminder from your Speaker, Miss Hill.” She turns around and proceeds to walk towards the door.

“You know, you’re just like him,” Hill says suddenly.

Pepper stops dead in her tracks and turns around to face Hill again. There’s smug look on her face, and Hill knows she hit a nerve there. “Excuse me?”

Hill chuckles and shakes her head. “Stark,” she tells Pepper, in a tone that suggest _oh, darling, you’re so predictable._ “Maybe that’s why your pathetic attempt at a relationship didn’t work. You can’t be both the dominant.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Hill,” Pepper snarls. “But if I really have become more like Tony, then I don’t see any reason why you’re not shitting in your pants right now. Two Tony’s in one chamber? I’d like to see you try and stop us.” She exits the room, heels clacking against the marble floor, leaving Maria Hill stunned and disoriented, not knowing exactly what to think or do next, which is right where Pepper wants her to be.

She has goose-bumps, some kind of nagging feeling that’s crawling under Pepper’s skin as she walks back to her office. She knew, back when they had figured out that they’d be taking back the House, that a war was coming, one that Tony, Natasha, Clint, and all the others have been so desperately preparing for. It’s exhilarating, and she can’t ignore what all this is trying to tell her.

_Game on, bitch._


	3. The Dogs of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, Mima here!
> 
> First of all, MY BIGGEST APOLOGIES for the two-month wait for this chapter. After I returned from the convention I attended last November and December, we planned to begin writing as soon as I landed on home turf, but unfortunately my university had other plans for me and decided to bombard me with schoolwork for the last two weeks of classes before the holidays. And holidays are just the absolute WORST time for me to write. Good thing I managed to get my bearings once the new year rolled around, and my co-authors and I actually finished this within a week!
> 
> (...so yes you can blame me for the very long wait...)
> 
> Just a quick note: there are a few West Wing references in this chapter, so if you recognize something, then it's most probably not ours. 
> 
> Also: don't forget that you can communicate with the authors through [my Tumblr](http://ironmima.tumblr.com)! You can find my ask at the left-hand side. Also browse through the [White House AU tag](http://ironmima.tumblr.com/tagged/AU) for goodies like backstories and little things that we thought we'd put out there.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and remember to keep that feedback coming along! It's what keeps us going. :)

_Washington DC_  
_June 2012_

For once since the whole budget war began three months ago, Tony Stark’s face isn’t on the front page of any of the major newspapers. Granted, the front page is still full of articles about the bloodbath his budget proposal is causing in Congress, but at least the Democrats decided to use the pleasanter face of Congresswoman Van Dyne to plaster on page one. Still, the budget mixed with his breakfast is not his ideal way to start the day, no matter which good-looking and amiable politician any party orders to do their dirty work appears on the media outlets. Besides, the aforementioned amiable quality always disappears behind closed doors, when everyone bares their teeth and the game turns ugly. 

Frankly, Steve is starting to get frustrated with the whole process. For one, he’s not terribly au courant with how Congress goes about with the budget—he’s only ever been with the Senate Ethics Committee, in the seat his Uncle Michael left vacant upon his death. Second, it’s no surprise that the Democrats are doing their best to kill his budget in the House—Tony Stark is, after all, out for his head—but to be quite honest, he’s almost up to his neck with the Republicans, especially those in the House.

Party politics have always been much more cordial in the Senate, and he has never experienced less than that during his three (well, two and a half) terms in office. Come to think of it, not once when he was growing up had Uncle Michael complained about tactics in the upper house. Sure, things became dirty once in a while, especially with divisive issues that drew clear party lines with both sides spewing hate at each other, but Senate politics never became as vicious as that of the House. He never had to deal with that sort of ruthlessness during his eleven years in the Senate. He’s grateful for that, but he definitely can’t escape it now that he’s sitting in the Oval Office. While heartless politics is par for the course, he’s starting to feel like that’s the only type of politics that Maria Hill and company know how to play. It leaves a very ugly taste in his mouth, especially when as each day the budget war gets bloodier, Hill seems to be more inclined to undermine his leadership.

He doesn’t know if he’s ineffective as the President and as the de facto leader of the Republican Party, or if he’s being played by the other powers that be of the party he has served with his everything for the past eleven years. Either way, it’s bad news for his administration and the American people.

Suddenly, he’s not so hungry anymore.

He closes the paper, thanks the butler for the meal and begins to walk swiftly to the west wing. People greet him on the way there, and he’s normally cheerful when he returns their greetings, but there is just too much on his mind this morning to try to even smile. Nonetheless, he greets everyone back as he makes his way to the Oval Office, still thinking about the Republican Party’s shenanigans. He’s going to have to talk to at his Chief of Staff and his Vice President about this if either of his assumptions turns out to be true. He can’t have an ineffective federal government, but he can’t have his party going rogue either.

He knows his senior staff can feel his unease as soon as he walks into the Oval, but the staff meeting proceeds as smoothly as it usually does. The last ten minutes of the meeting, as it has been for the past couple of months, is devoted to the budget, and Steve listens to arguments and plans that have been said out loud before. He tries not to look annoyed, but as the meeting ends without anything new to be put on the table, he cracks slightly and dismisses his staff with, “Don’t bother coming back in this office without bringing imagination.”

Bruce stays and has the right mind to have one of Steve’s secretaries call the Vice President. It’s always best to have Phil around when the Leader of the Free World is on the edge—they work best as a triumvirate, after all. He waits for Steve to sit behind the Resolute Desk before informing him that Phil will be in the Oval Office in a few minutes.

“Looks like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” he tells Steve with an observant tone. 

Steve runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Which side would you wake up to if Congress was going crazy behind your back?” 

Bruce chuckles and places his mug on the President’s desk. He’s about to say something when Steve’s executive secretary, Sharon, enters and announces the arrival of the Vice President. 

“Good morning, Mr. President, Bruce,” Phil greets them.

Bruce greets back and Steve gives him a curt nod. “We’re not in very high spirits this morning, are we?” Phil notes.

Steve gestures to the seat beside the desk. “Phil, have a seat. I hope you don’t mind standing, Bruce. I prefer to have this talk behind this desk. It…reminds me of the responsibilities of this office, and I believe I’m going to need that once I start telling you what’s on my mind.”

“Not at all, sir.”

Steve takes a deep breath and begins. “I am not happy with the way the Republicans in the House are dealing with the budget crisis. I understand that the House is probably the tenth circle of hell, and that Tony Stark is the devil, but that _does not_ give Maria Hill the authority to do whatever she pleases. I don’t know if it’s because we’ve been too remiss as the administration or if Hill and the others are planning shenanigans behind our backs.” He takes a moment to regain his composure. “If any of you have heard whispers from anyone in the Party, I would like the both of you to be honest with me now, please.”

Bruce and Phil glance at each other, and the Chief of Staff gives the Vice President a nod, as if to give him permission. It’s a strange sight to see in the Oval Office, but that’s really how the three of them work—sometimes the lines of authority are blurred and they return to operating as one unit rather than three separate offices.

Phil clears his throat. “Bruce and I have had been on the lookout for a few weeks now. Forgive us if we haven’t shared any of our information with you, but we felt like we needed more time to piece the puzzle together before presenting you with a situation report.”

“And we’re trying to keep a low profile,” Bruce continues. “It hasn’t been very difficult, but the House Republicans are good at what they do. We’re lucky our kids at Congressional Liaison are fantastic at gathering intel, otherwise Hill and her minions would have sniffed us out and cried foul play.” 

Phil leans back at the chair and crosses his arms, his steely gaze remaining firmly on Steve. “From what we’ve gathered, it seems as though Hill feels that this administration hasn’t done enough to push its financial agenda in Congress. She’s disappointed with the way we’re handling the budget crisis.”

“That doesn’t give her the right to start cooking things up behind our backs,” Steve says, his voice rising. “If she has a problem with they way we’re dealing with this, then she comes to me. Whatever happened to party unity?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have that in this party,” Bruce remarks, and Phil chuckles, much to the President’s dismay. “Look, sir. The situation in the House has become increasingly volatile. Democrats want our heads on a silver platter, and Hill and her team do not have a wide range of choices left in their arsenal. We’re dealing with desperation here and frankly, we need an iron fist.”

“At some level, I do agree that we have become lax these past months,” Phil says honestly. “And Bruce is right, sir. We’re going to need to assert our authority.” Steve wrinkles his eyebrows in disapproval, but Phil continues. “We’re not saying that this is our fault, sir, but rather that our children are misbehaving and they need disciplining.”

“So you’re saying that they want candy and they’re throwing a tantrum?” Steve asks flatly.

Phil nods. “If we want a reasonable and balanced budget, we should not leave the kids to play without supervision.”

“Because if we do, Congress will have a field day and we’ll have a budget that is a far, far cry from what it originally was,” Bruce adds. “And that’s exactly what’s going to happen if we don’t put our foot down.”

“What do you suggest we do, then?” Steve asks.

“Call for a meeting,” Bruce proposes. “Invite the House leadership of both parties, and the Senate as well. Let’s have a civil dialogue about the budget.” 

Phil agrees. “Bruce is right. It’s good for us publicity-wise, reaching out across party lines in order to attain an amicable agreement. Not to mention it will assuage whatever doubts the Republican Party has with this administration.” 

Steve stops for a moment to think. These two have never failed him, most especially in times of crisis—he doesn’t see why they would now. Their suggestions are rational and fair and could actually help solve the problem, but he’s not entirely sure that the Party will be completely satiated with this proposition. They want Democratic blood smeared on the GOP altar as sacrifice, and they want it now.

“Alright,” he finally says. “I want Stark, Hill, and the Senate leadership here in the White House tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Bruce and Phil both say.

“But make sure to send a not-so-subtle message to the Party—tell them to keep it in their pants for a while. We will be watching them. Understood?”

The two nod concurrence and are dismissed, leaving Steve to his thoughts for a few moments. It’s going to get worse before it gets better, he thinks, but he knows that he can’t invest all his energy into this. There are still so many things to be done, so many problems to solve, and the American people will need a levelheaded president if they want to get through this budget crisis relatively unscathed.

Steve laughs aloud in the empty office. Unscathed? Who was he kidding? 

//

When Tony gets the call from the White House Chief of Staff’s office later that morning to relay the President’s request for a meeting on the budget, he stops whatever he’s doing and actually throws his hands up in the air, sending papers flying around the foyer of his office, much to Kate’s chagrin.

“You _do not_ get to throw around important government documents in this office while I am alive, Tony Stark,” she tells him in exasperation as she picks up the fallen pages from the floor.

“Assemble the team, Kate,” he orders her excitedly. “Call in the cavalry. Release the Kraken. Winter is coming.”

Kate shuffles the papers back into an orderly arrangement and stands up to face Tony. “What?” The references do nothing to mitigate her irritation with her boss.

“Banner called. The President has asked to meet with both parties on the budget. _Tomorrow._ Which means we need a plan,” he explains to her with a manic glint in his eye. “My house, tonight.”

Kate’s face lights up, Tony’s earlier misdemeanor forgotten as she sets down the papers on his desk. “The usual suspects? Are assistants allowed?” she asks suggestively.

Tony thinks about it for a moment. “Only you and Darcy, and only because Darcy’s a creep and thus knows more about what goes on in this hellhole than most Congressmen and Senators do.”

Now it’s Kate’s turn to throw her hands up in the air. “Yes!” She kisses Tony’s cheek. “Best boss ever. I can’t wait to tell Darcy.”

“I also want Hank in tonight’s strategy session.”

“Senator Pym? What for?”

Tony gives her a look that says he’s really not amused.

“Oh! Senate Appropriations. Right.”

Tony rolls his eyes. There are just some times when his assistant is too excited to function. “Now go ahead and do your job before I change my mind about your presence being allowed tonight.”

“Yes, sir!” she says with a salute, and Tony rolls his eyes again, although with more affection than he would dare to confess. Kate has always loved the late-night planning and the head-to-head sessions in the House, and Tony would never, ever admit to anyone that indulging Kate’s war freak side is a more compelling reason to allow her in these meetings than the fact that he can’t find shit when she isn’t around.

“We’re going to fucking _war_ , bitches!” he hears Kate yell to the rest of his staff. He hears some whoops and catcalls and he can’t help but smile. Kate has always been the perfect image of enthusiasm and bloodlust wrapped in a pretty and very competent package. The same is true for all the others who work in the office of the Speaker of the House.

He smirks. He chooses his people well.

He sits behind his desk and picks up the phone to call Natasha. “Sweetheart!” he greets her cheerfully. “Have you heard?”

“Through the grapevine,” she answers. “Don’t ever call me sweetheart again, Stark.”

“Aww, come on! Can’t you make an exception? Today is a beautiful day. We get to go out and play tomorrow, isn’t that exciting?”

The silence at the other end tells him she’s smiling mischievously, the ghost of battle playing on her lips. He actually wishes he were beside her right now to see it because goddamn, Natasha Romanoff is beautiful and deadly when she’s on war mode. “Are you ready for this?” she asks seriously.

Tony laughs, genuine and rich and with all seriousness in the world. “Are you kidding me right now, Tash?” He leans back and Natasha actually returns his laugh. Glorious. “I was _born_ for this.” 

//

Five-thirty rolls in with a buzz from Darcy.

"I've got your files from this afternoon’s meeting ready for you to bring home," she says. Clint is currently slipping his laptop in his bag but takes the time to scrunch his nose and press a knuckle against its bridge. In his opinion, they had taken too goddamn long arguing about absolutely useless things earlier that afternoon.

"Anyone else concerned that the Paper Reduction Act has reached at least eight hundred pages by now?" He’d brought up, loaded with sarcasm and nearly growling every word out. It had been a stressful day, at least for him; what was supposed to have been devoted for other more urgent and important matters had been forcefully pushed back to prioritize this, on Reed Richards’—the Senate President—insistence.

Amidst the laughter that rang around the conference room, Richards threw him a scowl, to which he replied with a wink. _That_ , at least, had made the afternoon worthwhile. 

"Couldn't help notice how eager you are to get rid of me. Got a hot date?" he replies after a beat's moment of hesitation. Darcy laughs.

“As if you haven’t been Eager McBeaver yourself. I know you’ve been playing Angry Birds in there for the last hour,” she fires back. He rolls his eyes.

"You exaggerate. I've only been playing for 25 minutes." It’s an inside joke between them, concerning Darcy having caught him playing during a video conference, in the pretence of consulting an e-mail. To be fair, he should not have enthusiastically murmured, “Caw, caw motherfuckers” loud enough for her to hear.

He steps out of his office. True to her word, Darcy hands him a folder. The paperwork looks thin enough, thank god. Darcy herself looks ready to leave, with her desk clean and a new coat of lipstick on her lips. The only thing left is her computer, which had several files open. Clint raises his eyebrow.

“Looks like I’m not the only Eager McBeaver, as you so eloquently put it.”

“Whatever, you’re going to let me out early, we both know that. I’m just saving you some extra effort. Anyway, I’ll be seeing you at the thing later.” Clint’s other eyebrow joins his first. 

"Stark invited _you_?"

"Please," Darcy says with a roll of her eyes. "All your little schemes would fail if it wasn't for my inside information. You need my brains—or rather, my gossip—and if it means getting acquainted with Tony's infamous liquor stash, I'm definitely in." 

//

Clint arrives at Tony’s house twenty minutes past six. Clint is always the first to arrive—pre-session quickie, as dubbed by Darcy. Consequently, it has encouraged numerous catcalls (ahem, Wade) and innuendos (Tony), but the truth is that Clint and Tony are surprisingly great friends. 

The intercom beside the door cackles. "Stop brooding on my doorstep, Barton, there's a bottle of scotch here with your name on it. I'm not making promises that it'll give you the answers you're looking for but those bushes won't either, might as well go for the fun option.”

The door opens and Clint steps inside, but not without flicking a finger to the security camera. Not the one set up by the corner, which is a decoy, but the one on the peephole.

"Ass," Clint adds for extra measure. 

"Ooh, baby, talk dirty to me."

Inside is considerably warmer. He sheds his coat and places it in the closet. It is a testimony to how often he's been at Tony's when JARVIS doesn't startle him anymore.

"Good evening, Mr. Barton."

"JARVIS, still stuck with Stark? I told you I'd give you a higher pay grade."

"Tempting, but I'm afraid you may not be able to satisfy me the way Mr. Stark does."

"Oh god, you're even starting to sound like him. This is me metaphorically backing away."

The living room is large, although a couple of sofas do take up the space. The main attraction, however, is a competition between the massive LED television screen and the bar area. The television is off while the bar area has its spotlights on, casting a warm glow, beckoning Clint towards it. Tony is already there, behind the counter, running his hands through the bottles before settling on one that hasn't been opened yet. The room is one of Tony's special occasion rooms; these are rooms that Tony uses only when he has people coming over, a sort of stage for him to engage with everyone. The living room, in particular, is usually set out for the strategy sessions like these, small celebrations and for particular nights when Clint gets calls from him at two in the morning to indulge in a glass or two.

Tony welcomes Clint by preparing him scotch on the rocks. The glasses tinkle and the sound of alcohol being poured out relaxes him, easing most of the tension from his shoulders. He sits on the bar stool, arms resting on the smooth counter top. Tony, Clint notes, sips at his Pellegrino. Clint figures it would be cruel to jostle his friend, especially when he’s been thirteen years sober. 

"Music to my ears," Clint says approvingly, taking the offered glass from Tony's outstretched hand. Tony himself has taken to cradling the bottle with him.

"All we need now is a little AC/DC. They go hand in hand," Tony says as he kicks out the stool beside Clint, sitting himself on it.

"Please. Even I know your rock music is inferior to this classy goodness."

"Shut your dirty mouth, Barton." Tony makes a show of reaching over and grabbing Clint's drink. Clint plays along and draws his hand back, snickering at Tony's half-assed attempt. They settle down eventually. Tony ends up on the countertop, legs crossed and tie loosened. Clint is doing his fair share of minding his own business. Today, that means telling himself to forget about Natasha and then doing the exact opposite of that. He knocks back the rest of the scotch and grimaces when he tastes that Tony has completely watered it down. Tony nudges his arm with the bottle.

“Hey Sour Patch, penny for your thoughts?”

“You don’t need a fucking penny, Stark; you can have a goddamn bath in them.”

“…You do realize that’s not how the metaphor works.”

“You realize that this is me trying to divert the subject.”

Tony sits up straight, bottle forgotten. He clasps his hands and rests his chin on them, eyes narrowed at Clint. Clint pours himself another shot of scotch. Looking at the half-filled glass, he pours some more until it’s filled because you could have looked at it as half-full but when Tony Stark actually gives you a serious look, you know no amount of scotch is going to be enough.

“That narrows the original subject easily—it doesn’t have anything to do with ixnay on mentioning atashanay, would it?”

Clint takes a shot.

“That bad, huh?”

“Ixnay on mentioning atshanay, remember?”

“Listen to me.” Tony places his hand on Clint’s drink and forces him to put it down on the countertop before Clint can take another shot. “It’s eating you up. And I know you take precautions not to let your personal life get in the way of work but Darcy’s passed along that you went as far as asking her to bring you a cupcake. Four times in the past three months, if my information is accurate.” 

For a moment, Clint considers arguing back—that cupcakes had nothing to do with his fucking job and that Tony should do something about his non-sequitors but—

But, on the other hand, Tony was absolutely right. It did bother him.

He takes a deep breath.

“I really thought things were escalating—shut up,” he says as Tony’s lips quiver into a smirk. “And it was, I guess, but only in the bedroom. There I did your joke for you. The truth is, I really like Natasha and I want us to be together. I want to take her out on dinner, not because it’s a prelude to sex, but because I know she likes their dessert or something. I want lazy weekends, spent in bed, doing nothing except maybe use the bathroom.” Clint rests his head against the cool top.

“It’s pathetic, I know.” His voice comes out muffled.

Tony doesn’t say anything for a while. When he does, it comes out soft.

“Clint. You know my track record with these kinds of things. My last relationship…” Tony pauses. Clint looks up. Tony is squinting at the ceiling, working through his own thoughts. Eventually he snaps back to the present and gives Clint his signature shit eating grin.

“You know what? Screw what I was going to say. Love is a battlefield, fight for it. The Beatles got it right—all you need is love. Um, I’m trying to cram as many words of wisdom as I can, help me out JARVIS?”

“I believe you once had me play Journey’s greatest hits on loop, sir. Would you like me to pick a song at random?” 

//

Kate and Darcy are the second to arrive, and by the time they do, Clint is already past half-drunk, and Tony has stashed the scotch away and replaced Clint’s drink with water and a can of Red Bull. The assistants shuffle in the house with the Chinese take-out (their signature eve of battle food), and as soon as Darcy spots Clint hunched over the bar, she sighs and walks over to tend to her boss. Kate and Tony leave them alone to set up the living room.

Pepper arrives with Janet and Hank not ten minutes after the assistants do. Thor comes in booming and Wade trails behind him. Natasha arrives last, but most definitely not the least, and Clint is thankfully sober enough to function. They all start to congregate on the sofas the moment Kate announces that dinner is served.

Thor reaches for the shrimp dumplings, but Kate swats his arm away. “Keep away. _This_ is yours.” She hands him a family-sized box of pizza, and on top of it is a plate of Pop Tarts and his own carton of shrimp dumplings— _Thor’s_ signature eve of battle food.

Thor grins like a child doing trick or treat and bows to Kate. “Thank you, milady.”

“So…” Wade begins as he flops on the couch, mouth full of Yang Chao fried rice. “How are we going to go about kicking Republican ass?”

And that’s how their version of the Art of War starts.

About half an hour into making fun of Maria Hill and constructing the outlines of their battle plan, Pepper poses a very important question, “What about the President?” 

“What about him?” Janet clarifies.

“Well, it’s fairly obvious that Hill’s behind the wheel on this one, regardless of the fact that the budget was written by the White House.” Pepper stops to think for a moment. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve even _felt_ White House presence since the budget negotiations began.”

“How are things in the Senate?” Tony asks the senators in the room.

“Reed Richards is carrying the torch for both budget and appropriations,” Hank answers. “He’s keeping everything close to his chest at the moment.”

“Congresswoman Hill is being very aggressive, even in the upper house,” Thor adds. “It has given us much grief in the negotiations. Despite his arrogance, Senator Richards is a fair lawmaker, but he has been unusually hostile these past months. I believe the honorable Congresswoman may have her hands around his neck.”

“That’s not very honorable at all,” Janet comments.

Wade grimaces into his drink. “Hands around the neck have suddenly lost its kink factor.”

The discussion about Hill and the President heats up and then suddenly everyone is speaking in raised voices, with everyone overlapping one another. Kate and Darcy are at the back of the room, glancing at each other with amused looks on their faces. Kate nudges her girlfriend with her elbow, egging her to talk.

“Excuse me?” Darcy pipes up at the back, her hand raised. No one acknowledges her. “ _YO!_ ” she screams, and the whole room suddenly becomes quiet.

“Darcy, what the hell are you doing?” Clint asks his assistant after it registers to him what is going on.

“Raising my hand?”

“We don’t do that here,” Clint shoots back.

“It’s not the worst idea in the world,” Pepper remarks.

“What’s up?” Tony questions, completely ignoring Pepper and Clint.

“I overheard Senator Logan’s assistant in the hall before I left the Capitol, and apparently the White House made a call to Fury about Hill,” Darcy narrates. They all wait expectantly for more, and she shrugs. “That’s all I know.”

Tony turns to Natasha. She shakes her head. “I haven’t heard anything. But I honestly would not be surprised if that was the case.”

“Why is that?” Janet asks.

“Hill’s a bully,” Natasha answers. “If she wants something, she’s going to get it. Doesn’t matter whose toes she steps on, and that’s exactly what she’s been doing. She’s been ignoring Rogers and has gone deeper into the dark side.”

“So Rogers isn’t the problem, then?” Hank queries.

“I don’t think Rogers has ever been the problem,” Tony says thoughtfully. “If we were to be completely honest with ourselves, he submitted a balanced and relatively fair budget proposal. Granted, there were some things that went over our red lines, but there was still room for civil negotiations. Now we have tax cuts for the one percent and higher interest rates for student loans, among other things.”

“And our most important and urgent bills taken hostage with killer amendments,” Pepper adds, remembering the silent threat she had made to Maria Hill three months before with the Women’s Health Act.

Wade whistles. “Hill gone wild.”

“Rogers isn’t very happy with the Republicans, or rather Hill, going behind his back,” Natasha shares after taking a minute to think. “He’s gone to Papa Bear to cry.”

Clint clears his throat. “Bad move on Rogers’ part, if you ask me. Hill’s going to be pissed, and he’s already used up his only Fury card.”

“I sense ill tidings for tomorrow’s gathering, my friends,” Thor tells them.

“If that’s the case—“ Tony tosses his chopsticks in an empty carton, doesn’t miss “—then we do what we do best.”

No one says a word, because everyone knows what exactly that means.

//

The atmosphere in the White House the next morning is so tense you can cut through it with a knife.

The whole staff is on high alert, their postures stiff and their nerves on the edge. Who can blame them, really—after all, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was painted a proud shade of blue not even six months ago. It’s mostly about being extremely territorial, with the Republicans, barely out of a gruesome two-year campaign and still reeling from the loss of the House, more ready to attack anyone who encroaches on what is supposed to be rightfully theirs.

Bruce noticed earlier that morning that even Steve is anxious, and that’s a first for them. His back is straight and his stance rigid, the President’s military training obvious to anyone at sight. Honestly, Bruce is not surprised. Tony Stark is infamous for his tactics, and no one, not even the Democratic Party, really knows what to expect of him in times like these. One thing Bruce and the rest of the Republicans are sure about is that Stark’s camp will pull out all the stops to come out victorious.

His assistant notifies him that the Republicans have entered the building, and Bruce heads to the Roosevelt Room to welcome them. Of course, Hill is there, along with Senator Reed Richards and other Congressmen and Senators who are important members of the Budget and Appropriations Committees of their respective houses. 

Richards maintains his quiet, arrogant reserve; Hill is polite but humorless, and Bruce suspects that she’s not entirely happy to be here. It must have been the call he made to Nick Fury the previous day. Maria Hill is not the type of person who is fond of being on a leash. That might be a problem for them in the near future, most especially when the budget war reaches its climax come September, but right now it’s a necessary risk.

Bruce is informed ten minutes later that the Democrats have arrived. The Republicans straighten up and Bruce asks his assistant to inform the President, to which his assistant acknowledges with a terse nod. He really should have briefed the staff about dealing with the Democrats—the most important thing to know about them is that they feed on your fear. He makes a mental note for future reference. 

He can already hear Tony Stark’s voice echoing through the hallway as they make their way to the Roosevelt Room. It should annoy him, really, that the Democrats think they own whatever place they’re in, but it actually amuses and fascinates him how Stark can command an entire room with just a simple smile, yet Maria Hill has to incite fear and animosity to garner attention.

The Democrats shuffle in the infamous room, laughing and joking around—goddamn them for being so cheerful on a morning like this. Bruce is no longer surprised with the party Stark has brought with him—Congresswoman Pepper Potts, House Majority Leader and his right hand woman; Congresswoman Janet Van Dyne, chairman of the House Budget Committee; Senator Thor Odinson, Senate Minority Leader; and Senator Hank Pym, ranking member of the Senate Appropriations Committee. He’s a little puzzled at the absence of Barton and Wilson, but he supposes that it must have been for a reason, and he’d bet his life that the both of them were invited to Stark’s pad for one of his infamous planning sessions.

Bruce shakes Tony’s hand. “Welcome to the White House, Mr. Speaker.”

“Great to be here, Bruce,” Tony replies mindlessly. 

Bruce shakes hands with the rest of the party. Thor is last, and he grips Bruce’s hand rather tightly. “Ah, the circumstance of my presence in this House is too deliciously ironic to ignore, don’t you think Mr. Banner?” Thor asks a little too jovially, trying to lighten the mood of the room.

Bruce lets out a small laugh, but it’s Tony who answers the Senator. “But this time around, we hold the power. Don’t we, Thor?”

Hill sniggers. “In your wildest dreams, Stark.”

“Good to see you too, Hill. I’ve missed you like crazy.” 

“Children,” Bruce warns. “Play nice.”

Bruce’s assistant returns to notify them that the President will be in the room in three minutes, and the room quiets significantly. True enough, it takes three minutes for Steve to wrap a meeting in the Oval and head to the Roosevelt Room. They all stand to greet him. 

Steve has a hard look on his face. “Good morning everyone.”

They all murmur their good mornings and Bruce makes a move to the left of Tony, guessing that now is as good a time as any for him to introduce Steve to him. “Sir, this is Anthony Stark, the Speaker of the House.”

There is a momentary pause, just a few seconds of a suspended crackling in the air when both men size each other up. They’ve seen each other on monitors, on CNN specials and footage from the newsrooms, but it’s something else to see them standing in front of each other, with Steve towering the all-important one inch over Tony.

Bruce has to cough a little before the two remember to shake hands. “Honestly, I’m a bit abashed that I’ve only formally met you now, Mr. Speaker,” Steve expresses with a hint of regret on his face.

Tony shrugs, uncaring. “What can I say? I’m a hard man to catch.” 

Bruce notices that Steve stops for a beat, dumbfounded at Tony’s cockiness, but he regains his composure almost immediately. “I can imagine.” The President turns to the rest of the room.

“Shall we begin?”

It doesn’t surprise anyone, really, that the meeting ends horribly.


	4. Early Mornings in Washington

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of explaining to do. But first, I apologize profusely for the year-long wait for this chapter. It has been a crazy year for me and I really couldn't take the time to sit and write. I finally found the time to continue writing these last couple of weeks. Needless to say, you'll probably have one chapter every two to three weeks leading up to March of next year. Hopefully I'll be able to finish the story, but I doubt it. 
> 
> Still! Thank you for the continued support for this story. I've received a lot of messages about this fic on Tumblr. So see guys, I haven't abandoned it! It's just going really, really slowly.
> 
> As always, you can visit [my Tumblr](http://ironmima.tumblr.com/) to lovingly bother me about stuff regarding the fic. It also has its own [tag](http://ironmima.tumblr.com/tagged/AU) with some goodies and easter eggs. Drop by and say hi, and take some time to write a comment or two here as well. They keep me going :)
> 
> Enjoy this chapter. Think of it as an early Christmas gift.

_Washington DC_  
 _June 2012_  
 _Before the meeting at the White House_

Nick Fury is a very serious man. After all, one has to be in order to survive being in American politics. He calls people out on their crap, tells it like it is, and is always upfront and honest about the bullshit his party involves itself in. He’s been a Republican for all of his life, but he hasn’t been in his seat for long—Natasha Romanoff has been carrying the mantle for the Democrats far longer than he has held the GOP chairmanship—but he has lived and breathed politics longer than he can dare remember, even longer than Romanoff has been alive. He remembers every idiotic move and decision his party has made throughout the years, and has sold his soul to whatever devil is out there to right every wrong. His candor has never been welcome in his party, but miracle of miracles, he was elected to be the chair, and he swore on his life to bring back the GOP glory days—the days where Republican politics wasn’t about attacking gays and women, lying, bullying, and just being plain idiotic.

He knew from the beginning that none of it was going to be easy, that it was going to be an uphill battle of epic proportions. He spent his first term weeding out the halfwits and bringing in the real deals. That’s how he discovered Rogers, when he was still the diffident senator from New Hampshire trying to fill in the shoes of a Republican giant. Michael Rogers was one of the good guys, a fine statesman and a true American. Nick had worked with the late senator whenever he could, but the young Steve had always just been on the sidelines. It wasn’t until the younger Rogers had been asked to take the wheel had Nick seen the immense potential in the kid, and when Nick had been elected to the chairmanship, he made sure that the whole country saw the promise of Steve Rogers.

And America did. After more than a year of wooing, Rogers finally agreed to join the race for the White House and won, of course. He was the perfect candidate—smart, charismatic, honest, genuine, among many other things. People like Steve Rogers make Nick Fury’s life easier.

People like Maria Hill, however, do not.

Don’t get him wrong—he doesn’t hate Hill. She’s a fierce woman and a reasonably good lawmaker, but she’s the product of everything Nick abhors about the Republican Party. The bullying and the scheming are not things Nick can tolerate very often, and he’s scolded Hill about her methods time and time again, but Maria Hill listens to absolutely no one, and Nick absolutely _loathes_ that.

“Well, Fury, better make this quick. I don’t have all the time in the world,” Hill tells the GOP Chair in a commanding voice.

Fury tries his best not to toss her out the window, but keeps the vexation on his face. “Watch your tone in this office, Hill. You’re not the Speaker anymore.”

Hill rolls her eyes at him but says nothing.

Fury continues to scowl at her and gets down to business. “I suppose you know what this meeting is about.” 

“I’ve been naughty and you’ve come to punish me,” Hill replies mockingly, disdain evident in her tone.

“To put it mildly.” He disregards her taunting and sits down and rests his chin on his hands, eyes penetrating Hill’s arrogant demeanor. “You’ve crossed a very dangerous line, Maria. The President is not at all happy with you.”

“And I’m not at all happy with him,” she tells Fury with a sneer. “What does he take me for, a wimp? You know the Republicans in the House are out to get blood. Do you honestly think we’d allow that poor excuse of a budget to pass in my chamber?”

“For the love that is all pure and holy, Hill, that is not your chamber anymore! Or have you not noticed Stark standing on the Speaker’s rostrum these past six months?” Fury stops for a moment and takes a deep breath to calm himself down. He begins again, his voice softer but still unrelenting. “You have to suck it up, Hill. We lost the House, and you lost the Speakership. Get over it and start _governing._ ”

Hill laughs like that was the funniest thing in the world. “Oh, really, is that what this is about? _Governing?_ The last time I looked, kowtowing to Democrats isn’t governing, Fury. Or has your boy forgotten that he belongs in my party?”

Fury’s face hardens into an unforgiving gaze. “You will speak of the President with respect, Congresswoman. He is the de facto leader of _this_ party, which belongs to the people of the United States of America—not your egotistical, greedy ass. You _will_ cooperate with this administration and you _will_ be a productive member of this Congress.”

Hill opens her mouth to speak. “Over my de—“ 

Fury cuts her off. “And if you continue to become a roadblock for the betterment of this country then I swear to whatever god that is you worship that we will paint you and your ragtag team of self-serving assholes as the cause of every single problem in this country.” He stops to recollect himself. “I’m sure Stark and Romanoff will be able to get behind me on this one.”

Hill can only gape at Fury in a mixture of disbelief, anger, and slight alarm.

“Don’t test me, Hill,” Fury warns her one last time. “Dismissed.”

//

_Washington DC_  
 _August 2012_

When Kate wakes up, it’s a little bit past five in the morning. The sun isn’t out yet, but her desk lamp and the standing lamp beside the couch that she had forgotten to turn off some few hours before fill the living room with soft light. She had fallen asleep on her laptop keyboard. Scattered all over her desk are sheets of paper—documents, speeches, letters, requests, among other things—that she had been working on until the early hours of the morning. Across it, Darcy sleeps on the couch, a folder on her stomach with most of its contents spilled and strewn all over the floor along with other paperwork. She is still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and so is Kate—a sign of increasing pressure at work, no thanks to Maria Hill and her fellow Republicans. Unfortunately, work stress is also one of the many hazards of working for Tony Stark.

Kate rubs her eyes, stretches and heads to the kitchen, her cellphone in hand to text her aforementioned boss. _Are you awake yet,_ she types in, and it isn’t even ten seconds before her phone rings.

“I never slept,” he tells her. “I don’t think I’ve had a good night’s rest since the meeting at the White House.”

She frowns and runs a hand through her hair. _Typical_. “You have to learn to take better care of yourself, Tony.” She shouldn’t be expecting anything else, not when they’re at the height of the budget war, but she’s disappointed nonetheless. Taking care of himself has never been high on her boss’ list of priorities and that worries her a lot, but she has grudgingly learned to accept this about the great Tony Stark. She tries to make sure that he’s healthy and well whenever she can.

“Good morning to you, too,” he greets her, a little too energetic for someone who was up all night. 

She sighs. “What were you up to?” Kate asks as a concession of defeat. She won’t go anywhere if she argues his sleeping habits further.

“Too many thoughts running through my mind, so I decided to tinker.”

 _Of course,_ she thinks. Whenever he’s disquieted, Tony Stark hauls himself in his basement workshop and gets lost in his machines and programs, a temporary respite from the insanity of American politics. Even when he dropped out of MIT during his second year and transferred to Stanford, he never really left engineering and robots. It’s his home, Kate thinks. Whatever he does, wherever he goes, he will always go back to his machines.

And because Kate is Kate, she decides to just take advantage of the situation. “Please tell me you’re working on an upgrade for my phone.”

“Oh yes, I’ve done that. I also wanted to see if we could expand our communication and storage system to accommodate the rest of the team.” He pauses and there’s a sound of clanging metal in the background. “I think I’ve figured it out. I need to make a few more tablets, especially for Pepper and Clint, but it won’t take much.”

“That’s great, Tony. Makes it easier for the team, especially for the assistants.” Darcy starts to stir and stretch to consciousness, the folder on her stomach falling to the ground to join the rest of its contents. Kate starts the coffee. “And have you been thinking about your real world job at all?”

He whines. “When _don’t_ I think about it?”

“Oh please,” she chastises him playfully. The clock in the kitchen reads almost five-thirty—back to business _._ Kate puts on her serious voice. “The sun’s coming up. Shower then coffee, Tony. Lots of it. You’ve got a meeting with the team at seven-thirty. I’ll have a car pick you up at seven—I won’t allow you to drive without sleep.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” he says, and she can feel him salute at the other end. “See you at the Hill.” He hangs up, and she smiles despite herself. Mastering the art of bossing Tony Stark wasn’t easy and she had to grasp at straws when she began working for him, but over the years Kate has learned how to deal with him at times like these. Besides, she’s always had his best interests at heart, and he knows that, knows when to allow Kate to boss him around.

Darcy greets Kate with a good morning kiss. “How’s Tony?”

“The usual. Didn’t sleep at all last night,” Kate tells her girlfriend with a disapproving look. She pours two cups of coffee and hands one to Darcy.

“Thanks.” Darcy takes a sip. “If I had Tony Stark’s mind and even just half of his problems, I wouldn’t be able to sleep either. Most especially at a time like this.”

“You’re right,” Kate admits with a sad smile. “Is Clint doing okay?”

Darcy’s face stiffens. “I told him not to fall in love with Natasha Romanoff, and that’s exactly what he does. He’s been moping around the Senate these past couple of months like a lovesick puppy. It can get pretty annoying.” She shakes her head. “Men. They never know what’s good for them.”

“I work for Tony Stark. Trust me, I know,” Kate says with a chuckle. “But he’s holding up alright? Tony hasn’t been grousing about his work ethic so I assume he’s still on top of his game. Clint never shows anything less than his best during meetings and war councils, as far as I’ve noticed.” 

“He’s actually good at distracting himself,” Darcy says, circling the rim of the mug with her forefinger. “He’s purposely bombarding himself with work so he doesn’t have to think about Natasha, which I approve of. He needs to distance himself from that woman for now. I love her and I think she’s an amazing woman, but damn, her emotional range is so out of this world.”

“I think that’s what makes her so damn scary.”

Darcy nods in agreement and sets down her empty mug on the sink. “I’ll go take a shower. Can I borrow some clothes?”

“Sure, go ahead. I’ll make us some breakfast.” Kate starts setting up the frying pan, but then stops. “Hey, Darcy?”

“Yeah?”

Kate takes a moment before she speaks. “Maybe you should move in. This apartment is much nearer to the Hill than yours, and you already spend most of your time here anyway,” she proposes gently. “You don’t need to decide now, but the offer stands.”

Darcy pauses, face serious, then she smiles. “What’s there to think about? I’ll move in on the weekend. Besides, think of all the sex we can have.”

Kate smiles back, wide and gleaming, and throws a kitchen towel at her girlfriend. “Idiot. Go take a shower.” Darcy laughs as she exits the kitchen, Kate shaking her head while preparing to cook breakfast for the two of them.

Needless to say, the rest of the morning is happy for both Kate and Darcy despite the stress that’s waiting for them at the Hill. In this business, they take what they can get, even if what they get are just fleeting moments of glee.

Surprisingly, that’s actually something they’ve learned from the great Tony Stark.

//

It’s a ringing phone that wakes Pepper up. She glances at the clock on her nightstand and it reads a quarter past six, not an unusual time for the congresswoman to be awake, but the phone call isn’t for her, it’s for her fiancé. That certainly shocks her system into full consciousness—it’s not everyday that Happy gets a call so early in the morning, so it’s definitely a surprise for her.

“Hello?” Happy answers, and he heads outside of the bedroom, unaware that Pepper had also woken up to the call.

She takes a few minutes before she gets up from bed. The day feels like it’s going to be an unpleasant one already. She’s had so many of these in the past couple of months, and to be honest, she doesn’t think it’s going to get any better soon. Talk about waking up on the wrong side of the bed.

Or maybe it’s just waking up as a congresswoman of the United States House of Representatives.

When she gets down to the kitchen, Happy is finishing his call and already has a fresh pot of coffee ready for the both of them. Pepper smiles and kisses him on the cheek. “Good morning. Early start?” she asks as she pours herself and Happy a fresh cup of steaming Columbian coffee each.

“That was Kate,” he tells her, rubbing his eyes. Pepper hands him his coffee. “She asked if I could send a car over to Tony’s at seven. Apparently he didn’t sleep at all last night, and Kate doesn’t want him driving to the Hill in that state. I agree.” He pauses to send a message on his phone. “Dugan is going to stay with Tony the whole day.”

“You own a security company, honey, not a limousine service.”

“Tony redesigned the company’s entire communications and security systems _for free,_ Pep. He built top-of-the-line phones for me and my top guys. SHIELD Security wouldn’t be where it is today if it weren’t for him. I owe Tony a lot.” He puts bread in the toaster and hands Pepper the butter from the fridge, a knife, and a grapefruit on a small plate. “Besides, he’s third in line for the White House. He needs more than Kate as his security detail.”

Pepper chuckles. “Don’t let Kate hear you underestimating her. Give that girl a bow and arrow and you’re dead in three seconds flat.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Far from it. She got through college on an archery scholarship. I think that’s one of the reasons why Tony hired her,” she tells him, eyes crinkling with amusement. “You know how he is.”

“Look, Stark may be eccentric and arrogant at best, but you can’t deny that he’s a genius, Pep. I keep telling you, he should just quit politics and put up his own tech company. He’ll give Stane and that Jobs guy a run for their money,” he says passionately as he butters his toast a little too much more than the usual.

“Steve Jobs is dead, dear,” she informs him, holding in a small laughter. It always amazes her how good friends her fiancé and her ex-boyfriend are. Only a handful of men would be comfortable with the fact that she used to date (and was engaged to) the infamous Tony Stark for what some people would consider forever (five years). Most men’s egos can’t handle that, but not Happy. He actually likes Tony, admires him, cares for him even. That thought warms Pepper’s heart.

Happy waves his arms in defeat. “You know what I mean.”

“I do, but Tony does what he wants. He’s always been like that. He wouldn’t be the Speaker of the House if he weren’t like that.”

Happy turns a little bit too melancholic for breakfast. “I just want him to be happy, you know? He’s a really good guy.”

“He can be a pain in the ass, though,” Pepper adds.

“That I can agree with,” he says with a chuckle. “How’s he doing, though? It must be crazy up at the Hill right now. The President still hasn’t called for another meeting?”

Pepper answers Happy’s question with a dry laugh. “Not after the one last June, and I’m pretty sure never again. At least, not with the House Republicans in the same room.”

“Didn’t he call Hill a—“

“’A dried-up harpy with a stick up her ass.’ It was horrible. And he also called the President a Ken doll, did I tell you this?” The horror is clear on Pepper’s face as she remembers the meeting. “I don’t think it was meant as an insult, though. I think he was flirting with him, which is even worse.”

“And what did the President say?” Happy is clearly enthralled.

“Banner adjourned the meeting before the President could say anything. Hill was fuming, and Richards, quiet as he is, was livid. Even Thor was becoming irate. I was trying to keep Tony from pushing the situation into a place where we didn’t want it to be. The plan was to get Maria Hill angry, but Tony…”

“He just can’t stick to the plan,” Happy finishes.

Pepper shrugs in defeat. “And now we’re here.” She sighs, deposits her dishes in the sink and starts washing them. “I better start getting ready for work.”

Happy holds her wrists gently and turns off the faucet. “I’ll take care of these. Go and take a nice, long shower. I can tell that today isn’t going to be a very good day for you.”

Pepper dries her hands and gives her fiancé a peck on the lips. “Thanks, honey. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

“Waking up beside you everyday is enough.”

She tosses the kitchen towel at his face. “The cheesiness level of that line just went past Mars.”

Happy smiles cheekily. “You like it anyway.”

Pepper’s laughter rings throughout the whole house. It might not be such a bad day after all.

//

Timothy “Dum-Dum” Dugan, Happy Hogan’s second-in-command at SHIELD Security, arrives in front of Tony Stark’s house at precisely seven in the morning. To his pleasant surprise, the Speaker of the House shuffles out the door of his townhouse at two minutes past the hour, seemingly ready and strangely raring to go. Dugan has known the congressman for a few years already, and it’s unusual for him to be prompt and energetic this early in the morning. Dugan observes him with a curious eye, wondering if Stark has already been given some good news, or if it’s just the lack of sleep. It’s probably the latter.

“Bye, honey!” Tony bids his ever-loyal (because he made it so) artificial intelligence, JARVIS, farewell. He adds flavor to the goodbye by throwing air kisses into the empty hallway. He closes the door and turns to face Dugan. Tony breaks into a big smile and opens his arms wide in a gracious welcome. “Dum-Dum!”

Dugan replies with a small nod. “Good morning, Mr. Speaker.”

“When my assistant told me that she was going have a car fetch me this morning, I didn’t expect the army.”

“Only the best for you, Mr. Stark.” Dugan walks to the starboard side of the car and opens the door to the backseat for Tony. “I will be your detail for the whole day, sir. Happy has instructed me to take you wherever you need to go today.”

“Your boss certainly knows how to overreact, doesn’t he? When you report to him later tonight, tell him I am as beautiful and as wonderful as ever.” He pats Dugan twice on the cheek and contemplates his handlebar mustache. “And your mustache is as fantastic as ever, Dugan. Tell me, how do you keep it so…twirly?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets, sir,” Dugan replies with a mysterious twinkle, playing along. “But thank you, I try my best.”

Tony laughs heartily. “This is why you’re my favorite, Dum-Dum. Besides the great nickname, of course.” He slides inside car and they start the drive to the Hill. “How are the kids?” he asks his chauffeur for the day. Contrary to popular belief, Tony actually cares about people, especially people who take the time to make sure he’s alright, but he’ll never say that out loud to anyone ever. 

“My son just started in Columbia.” There is actual emotion—pride—in Dugan’s voice.

“Wow, New York! I used to—“ His phone starts to ring and he stares at the unknown number of the screen for a few moments. This phone is his private one, and its number is only known by a select few. The fact that someone he doesn’t know is calling this number unsettles him. _Where did I go wrong?,_ his mechanical mind asks in panic. He’s already starting to think of upgrades to his firewalls, and maybe even make Pepper and the rest of the team new phones to add to those tablets to secure his privacy—in his spare time, of course.

_Ring._

Or maybe later tonight, when he gets home, just as a precaution.

 _Ring._  

He might as well just find out who’s at the other end of the line and fix the problem later. “I’m sorry, Dugan, I have to take this.”

“Go right ahead, sir.”

“Tony Stark,” he answers tersely.

“Mr. Stark?” The voice is gentle and familiar, and it’s clear that a man is at the other end of this call.

Tony maintains his clipped tone. “Yes, I just said that. This is Tony Stark speaking. Who’s calling?”

The man coughs. “Of course, I’m sorry. This is Steve Rogers.”

Tony freezes for a moment. _What?_ He might need to have his hearing checked. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Steve Rogers. This is—this is the President, Mr. Stark.”

“I know who you are,” Tony says a little impatiently. He then realizes he’s talking to the leader of the free world and calms himself down, takes a deep breath. _Try to be civil,_ he tells himself. Besides, if he infuriates the President again, Pepper will never forgive him. And Kate. And Janet. _And Natasha, don’t’ forget about Natasha,_ he thinks with a shiver.

With Natasha in his mind, he summons all the politeness that he can muster. “I apologize, sir—Mr. President. Uh… Can I ask how you got this number?” He mentally thanks Kate for calling Happy to pick him up instead of a regular cab service. He also mentally thanks Happy for choosing Dugan among all his other men. Another thing he’ll never admit to anyone: he probably won’t be able to survive a day without all these people looking after him. Case in point: this morning.

“With all due respect, Mr. Stark—“ another cough, “—but I’m the President of the United States.” It’s not a threat, but more like a reminder. Strangely enough, Tony doesn’t think that line came with a smirk.

“Yes, of course,” Tony replies quickly. He shifts in his seat and tries to condition himself back to normal. He rubs his temples and tries to smile—he’s the Speaker of the House, for crying out loud—and puts his game face on. “How can I be of service, Mr. President?”

The President takes pause. “I just—“ He laughs nervously, and Tony is confused for a second. “Bruce will kill me if he finds out I’m doing this.”

Now Tony is even more confused. “Doing what, exactly?” 

The President sighs, and it’s a sigh that sounds a lot like acceptance. Of what precisely, Tony doesn’t know. “Talking to you without his consent. It’s not a very presidential thing to do, keeping your staff in the dark about important matters, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Tony is taken aback. Did the President just admit that he’s desperate? He really needs to have his hearing checked. Perhaps the White House has an angle, a new strategy to fix this budget mess with this call. But could it also be genuine bipartisanship on behalf of the President? Whatever it is, though, Tony is definitely interested in finding out. And Tony, being Tony, well… No one expects anything less than going for the jugular. So he cuts the act and goes straight to the point. “Is this for real?”

“What?”

“You just admitted to the Speaker of the House—who is also, I might add, a member of the opposing party, a party that controls the House of Representatives and is therefore supposedly your number one enemy—that you, the President of the United States, are desperate enough to actually cross the aisle to ask for help. Not only that, you’re doing it behind the backs of your most trusted advisers. Can you see why I’m having trouble believing that we’re actually having this conversation right now?” _I am going to be in so much trouble if Natasha finds out I’m doing this,_ Tony tells himself with a prayer.

“I understand your disbelief. I truly do, Mr. Stark. You’ve been in politics much longer than I have and probably can’t distinguish sincerity from schemes anymore. I get that. But please just stop for one second and try to get past all the politics because I want to start governing. And call me crazy but I actually think you want to do the same.”

And now Tony understands why this man won the hearts of 65 million Americans. He sounds strong and sure, and there isn’t a hint of dishonesty in his voice. But being a Democrat, Tony has to ask himself: can he actually trust this guy?

The President continues. “Look, Mr. Stark. I can’t turn to my own party. They’re divided. They’ve lost sight of what’s important and I’ve been trying so hard these past two months to get them back on track but…” The frustration is evident in his voice. Tony almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

“So this is ‘the enemy of my enemy’ kind of thing.”

“Far from it. I just want to do right by the American people, as cliché as that may sound. No one is an enemy here.”

“Just pains in our asses,” Tony adds, and the President laughs. “Maria Hill?” he ventures to guess in a half-joking manner.

“I don’t want to name names, Mr. Stark,” the President replies cautiously, but he’s still amused.

He knows for sure that when he’s old and gray, he’ll look back at this moment and think that this was the turning point, the game changer for him. He won’t know yet where and how he’ll be when he takes a trip down memory lane to this particular point in his life, but Tony’s got a feeling that this ride to the Hill, this phone call, is one for the books. So he takes a deep breath and trusts the one thing that has never failed him—his instincts. “Tony,” he tells the President kindly.

“I’m sorry?”

Tony shakes his head. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this. “Call me Tony.”

The President pauses. “Then you can call me Steve.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. President. Duty and protocol and…whatever, you get the point.”

“No, Tony. None of that Mr. President business. I’m just Steve, and you’re just Tony. We’re just two Americans trying to do what’s best for their country.”

Tony has half the mind to call this guy Captain America, but he tucks that thought away for later. “Sure thing… Steve.” The name feels foreign on Tony’s mouth for some reason. He doesn’t have a snarky comeback for this one, so the only thing he can think to do is sigh. He might as well be nice and cooperative while he’s at it. He is the Speaker of the House after all. “And while we’re on this subject of…bipartisanship, I’d like to apologize for calling you a Ken doll during the budget meeting at the White House. It…wasn’t an insult, actually.”

“It wasn’t? What was it, then?” Steve’s curiosity is clearly piqued.

“It was…” Tony tries to search for a word that isn’t too damning. He fails. “Whatever. I didn’t mean anything by it. That’s just how I am. You’ll have to get used to it, I’m afraid.”

Steve laughs softly. “Ah, so now I’m starting to see the true colors of the infamous Tony Stark? I’ll take your word for it. Apology accepted.” He takes a moment. “This brand of politics is unmerciful. We didn’t have this kind of ruthlessness when I was in the Senate.”

Tony huffs. “Clearly you weren’t in the Senate long enough.”

“How do you do it?”

Tony stops to think for a moment. He’s been in politics for more than two decades, so he’s seen and heard it all. Frankly, he doesn’t have an answer for Steve—it’s a jumbled mess of liters and liters of coffee, sleepless nights, not selling his soul to the devil, Pepper and Kate and Janet and Natasha, Clint and Thor and Wade, pizza, machines, staying sober, and a dream of flying iron suits. How can he tell the President of the United States that really, this was just some alternate universe wherein he decided not to pursue his first love and ended up in politics because of one selfish reason or another?

Tony, being Tony, answers Steve’s question with this: “Faith, trust, and pixie dust.”

That earns him another laugh from the President. “I’m going to need some of that pixie dust. Care to share some of that magic?”

“Did you never read fairytale books when you were a kid? It doesn’t work that way. You find it when you least expect it.”

“Right, of course. How could I forget that?”

Dugan clears his throat. “Sir, we’re five minutes out,” he informs Tony, and Tony peers through his window to see that they are already within Capitol grounds. Like 60% of the time, he is not looking forward to another day of being the Speaker of the House.

“Alright, thanks Dugan. I’m sorry, Steve, I’ll have to go soon. I’ll be arriving at the Hill in a few minutes.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve taken up so much of your morning already. Thank you for taking my call.” 

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

Steve laughs, and if Tony is honest with himself, he kind of likes that laugh. “Tony…” His tone is suddenly serious, if not also a little frustrated. “I’m counting on you for this. I’m counting on you to do what’s best for this country.”

And Tony, despite all that he had seen and heard in the past twenty years in American politics, asks Steve to do something that he has never asked anyone to do before.

“Trust me.”


	5. Clandestine Affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW, I KNOW. It's been nine months. I apologize profusely. I graduated from uni last March, got a job last April, and have been working on a book (along with other projects) since then. I've only begun to find my rhythm, which was why I was able to write this chapter.
> 
> If you're wondering why it's just _I_ now and not we, the lovely underscoredom and dancetildawnmon have bowed out from writing due to hectic schedules (work for Dom, med school for Mon). So, if anyone is interested, **I WOULD LOVE IT IF ANY OF YOU COULD BETA FOR ME**. 
> 
> We're nearing the climax of the first arc of this story, so please stay!

_Washington DC_  
 _August to September 2012_

The calls come in at least once a week after the first.

The deadline looms ahead, and naturally, both parties fear a government shutdown. But neither are willing to extend a hand of compromise publically and be labeled weak—Tony refuses to give in to the minority, and Maria Hill refuses to, according to her, “give up her principles to the liberal devils.” The President and his staff continue to scramble for some semblance of cooperation within the GOP whilst writing a fair and balanced budget, but they have very little luck. Hence, the calls keep coming, and Tony and Steve keep trying at this bipartisan thing. To their pleasant surprise, it seems as though they get along pretty well, except for the occasional shouting matches over the phone. But Steve is a Republican and Tony is a Democrat—those things are bound to happen at some point.

Tony, in a moment of unusual decision-making, decides not to tell his team about the agreement he has with the President. This creates a rift in his equilibrium and completely throws off his juju, because as much as he keeps his private life to himself, anything regarding work is public domain, and necessarily so. His team is effective because they are honest with each other, no holds barred. Still, for the life of him, Tony can’t bring himself to tell the others.

So he chooses to do what he normally does when he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place—he bargains with the cosmos (he is an atheist after all). A few days after the first call, he decides to tell Kate. Naturally, his straightforward and fearless assistant is not amused.

“Are you _crazy_?”

“After more than a decade of working as my assistant, you should know the answer to that question.”

Kate smacks him hard on the upper arm. “I’m serious,” she says, and it shows on her face. Tony’s revelation caught her off-guard—she is clearly not in a joking mood.

“So am I. Look, my questionable sanity is not really a secret around here. I _am_ crazy. I wouldn’t be Speaker of the House if I weren’t. But I’m not stupid, Kate. Stupid and crazy are two different things. You went to a good school, and I saw your transcripts, so you should know that. And you should know _me_.”

Kate groans in frustration, ignoring her boss’ teasing. “Tony, come on. Be serious for once. It’s important that you listen to me.”

“But I am listening to you!" 

“No, you’re not.” She prevents him from turning away by gripping his forearm. “Do you even know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Oh God, I feel like I’m eighteen again, and Obadiah’s trying his best to convince me not to drop out of MIT and transfer to Stanford. ‘Boy, do you know what you’re getting yourself into?’” he mimics with a look of disgust. “For the love of God, Kate, when did I ever make wrong judgments about these things? No, really, tell me because I’m standing in the Speaker’s office with no recollection whatsoever of ever getting here.”

Kate crosses her arms, mouth in a thin line and eyes sharp and harsh. She taps her foot on the floor, clearly impatient. She doesn’t dignify his questions with a reply.

Tony sighs. He didn’t think it was going to be this hard to convince his ever-loyal sidekick. “Kate, I’m a—“ 

“Futurist,” she finishes with a shake of her head. “I know. Christ, if I had a dollar for every time you said that…”

“I’m serious, Kate. Look,” he puts his hands on her shoulders as a gesture of reassurance. “I know this is unorthodox even for me, but we need some modicum of cooperation if we are to get things done around here. The President has extended a helping hand—who am I to refuse it?”

“You’re Tony Stark,” Kate declares, as if it is a good enough reason to do anything. Which, in Tony’s mind, probably is.

He nods in agreement. “That’s right, I’m Tony Stark. And I have a responsibility to our party and to this country to do what’s best.”

Kate frowns. “You know, when you say things like that, it’s kind of hard to disagree with you.” She looks up at Tony, who is six inches taller than her. “It’s also very hard to say anything contrary whenever you wear that puppy dog look on your face. Make it go away, it’s disgusting.”

Tony gives her a wide smile. “Did you mean: adorable?”

Kate smacks him on the upper arm again, but this time in a playful manner. “Shut up.”

“Are we good?” he asks cautiously. 

Kate sighs again. “Yeah, we are. But it’s only because you have big, adorable eyes. Thank God I’m a lesbian, because if I weren’t we would have problems with fraternization in the workplace.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Um, you and Darcy…?”

“Doesn’t count, she works in the Senate,” she dismisses. 

Tony raises his hands in defeat. “Whatever you say.” He sits behind his desk to get to work. “Now, let’s talk strategy.”

“Shouldn’t we have at least Pepper and Natasha here for this conversation?”

“Err…” Tony scratches his chin. Kate waits for his response, eyes suspicious. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone else but you…”

Kate’s eyes widen. “ _What?!”_ She goes around his desk and smacks his upper arm again, but it’s not the playful kind this time. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” There is some intense smacking in between each word.

Tony tries to dodge her attacks, but to no avail. “You said we were good. What happened to good?”

“No, we are not good!” Kate tells him, exasperated. “What are you doing? No, seriously, what the hell are you doing?”

“Kate—“

She goes on. “I can understand accepting an offer of cooperation from the other side, but not telling your two best people about it and planning for your next move… Jesus, Tony, this is…now _this_ is a serious fraternization problem—fraternizing with the enemy! How well do you think this will go with Pepper? Or even worse, Natasha?” She shudders. “Oh God, I can’t bear the thought of Natasha finding out about this…”

“They’re not going to know because we’re not going to tell them,” he says softly standing up. “And the President is not going to tell anyone either.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know that because he’s not the enemy,” he explains gently. His patience is running thin and he wants to get back to work, but he needs Kate to be in on this. He needs Kate to accept this arrangement. He needs Kate to understand exactly why he agreed to shake the hand of the big man from across the aisle. She’s like an extra limb to him, and he can’t be missing that limb, most especially at the height of the battle. “And because he is in the White House today for the same reason that we are in this office right now.”

“And what reason is that?” she challenges him.

“Remember what I used to tell you when you were starting out?”

“’I’m a futurist—‘” Kate imitates him in annoyance.

He laughs despite the fact that they’re in the middle of an argument. “No, not that, although that’s also true. I meant the other thing, when you realized how hard this job really is and you started to become jaded and disillusioned about our work. Remember that?”

Kate’s face softens at the memory. She remembers those days clearly, those days when the work got too much, the people got too selfish, the world got too unforgiving, and the crux of everything that she was doing became lost in a sea of insignificant things and all the other bullshit that came along with the job. She’ll never forget Tony’s words.

“Service second to none,” she finally says, the fondness and nostalgia clear in her tone.

“Service second to none,” Tony repeats rather proudly.

“And people say Tony Stark doesn’t have a heart.”

“Well, they’re not entirely wrong,” he says with a shrug.

She shakes her head. _Tony and his habit of self-deprecation_. “I have it on good authority that they are.”

A pause. Tony takes a deep breath. “So… Are we good? Like, finally good? No more outbursts? No more take-backs?”

Kate sighs in resignation. “Fine. We’re good. You know I’ll walk to the ends of the earth and back for you.”

Tony’s face breaks into slight alarm, as if the idea of anyone willing to do anything for him scares the shit out of him. “You know I’m never going to ask you to do that.” His voice is small, somber, almost depressed.

Kate falters for a bit, surprised at Tony’s response. After twelve years of working for Tony Stark, she has learned so much about his history, both public and private. She has discovered his true strengths and weaknesses, and things that he tends to hide from most people, even from those who know him best. Over the years, she has put together many of the pieces of the Tony Stark puzzle, but she’s far from reaching completion. This moment of distress is a new piece, and she can’t figure out its place in the big picture just yet.

She doesn’t say anything about it, only smiles and gives him a hug. He is forgiven. “What’s next?” she asks, previous apprehensions set aside. She trusts Tony completely, and she has to have faith in him in order to get the job done, even when he does things that she personally would not do in a given situation.

With Kate on board, Tony gets to relax a little, but he cannot rest on his laurels. Each day that passes is a day closer to the deadline. Congress, especially the House, is in complete disarray. His team is on battle mode, absolutely unmerciful and bloodthirsty. Honestly, he will never be prouder of his party than when Pepper and Wade go head to head with Hill and her second-in-command at the House, Congressman Barnes. He’s sure Natasha is working her magic behind the scenes, and he’s almost certain that in some way or another, she’s working with Fury to put Hill and her lackeys in place. 

But it’s still not enough. Tony can’t make sense of how strong a hold the Republicans have in his chamber when his party holds the majority. He’s been in this business way too long—he has gotten most of the habits down, the patterns, and really after 22 years of being in politics, he has figured out how everything works around here. So why then is Maria Hill still able to get one step ahead of him if he knows every trick in the book?

This, then, is the unexpected. To go into a some sort of clandestine agreement with the President is something no one would ever dare expect of him—if Kate, his long-time assistant and perhaps the person who knows him best in this world, was utterly dumbfounded and even outraged about it, then this wouldn’t even fly in Maria Hill’s radar. Taking Maria Hill out of the picture is only way Tony sees that things can move forward and not screw them from behind.

So the calls continue to come. They are a little past being professional and miles away from being personal, but they both have good ideas and valid points, and a good grasp of what each side wants. Tony finds that the rumors about Steve Rogers as a fair, nonjudgmental, and tolerant politician are true. With most of the politics set aside, it’s easy to move things forward with Steve’s brilliant and strategic mind as it complements well with Tony’s creative and ingenious one. The fact that they work well together surprised Tony during the first few calls.

And well, if Tony is honest with himself, Steve Rogers is not _entirely_ unwelcome in his life.

//

Steve is very tired. He doesn’t even bother hiding that to his staff anymore. This budget war has taken a toll on him, and he doesn’t have the energy to put on a show. To make matters worse, it’s getting even more difficult for him to relax—the exhaustion creeps up on him during his few precious minutes alone in between meetings, and the fatigue comes crashing down at the end of the day when he’s at the residence trying to rest. To make matters worse, he’s way more anxious than normal. He never knew until this whole budget war blew up that it was possible to be so tired and so completely on the edge at the same time.

It’s almost 11 o’clock. He should be heading back to the residence. There’s still light coming from his secretaries’ office, the one adjacent to the Oval. He sighs. He’d told his staff to go home hours ago. He’s not kidding himself—he knows they’re more tired and even more on the edge than he is. He knows his whole White House is exhausted, and it hasn’t even been a year, but they’re all almost drained of energy.

He misses Peggy more than anything, but he doesn’t let his mind and heart dwell on that for more than a second.

“Sharon?” he calls out, his voice a little hoarse.

She comes in the room swiftly, but Steve can see the weariness in her movements. “Sir?” she asks gently.

Sometimes it hurts him to look at Sharon because he can still see a little bit of Peggy in her very young face—the strong expression, the sure set of her mouth, the soft yet resolute eyes. Tonight is exceptionally painful. He’s yearning for the strength and comfort of his best friend and true love, and Peggy’s favorite niece (her _only_ niece, he would correct her with an adoring laugh) is a reminder of the one person he loved ( _loves_ ) the most—and he can no longer touch her, see her, and feel her.

He is so tired, and everything hurts.

“Is there anything you need, sir?” she asks again, this time more carefully.

Steve rubs his eyes. “You should go home, get some rest. I’ll be going back to the residence in a few minutes.”

She nods. “I will. Thank you, sir.”

He tries to hold the melancholy in, but he can’t help it. “I miss her,” Steve whispers, but it is loud enough for her to hear over the aching silence of the room. She’s the only breathing connection he has of Peggy in this world, and right now he just wants to grab at it, grab at what’s left of her.

Sharon freezes, eyes wide and sad. She has Peggy’s eyes, and he knows that look. It’s the look Peggy had when her heart was too heavy. “I miss her everyday of my life,” she tells him, her voice cracking.

Somehow, it feels good knowing that there is someone else who shares your grief. Still, he tries to comfort her even though he needs it more than she does. “Don’t let the crazy get to you, Sharon.” He knows that she completely understands what he means.

“Don’t let it get to _you,_ Uncle Steve. You’re better than them.”

Steve doesn’t know what to make of that anymore ( _does it even mean anything?_ ), but he gives her a small smile and a nod. He ends up being comforted by her words, too. A Carter trait, that—being able to provide solace despite personal grief.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, and leaves Steve alone in the empty, echoing Oval Office. He takes a deep breath and shudders. That brief moment of light brought in by Sharon is gone. Sometimes the room can be too imposing, too impossible, to handle on his own, and the dark settles back in. Steve sighs.

Like clockwork, he picks up his personal mobile phone and dials.

“Steve,” Tony greets him, and there is a wave of relief that washes over Steve, and the room brightens up a notch. It’s new and a little strange, but he shrugs it off as a consequence of exhaustion.

“Any updates?” Steve asks, refusing to dwell on his emotions and getting right down to business.

“Would you be disappointed if I said same old, same old?” 

Steve chuckles. “I’ve learned to _only_ be disappointed in Congress, Tony. That’s my default feeling towards your lot.”

“‘Your lot?’ We’re a little British tonight, aren’t we?” Tony teases.

“I’m exhausted, Tony. Don’t test me,” he teases back, but there is a hint of seriousness in his voice.

“I apologize, good sir,” Tony drawls out with a perfect British accent. He can practically hear Tony bowing at the other end of the line. He has to admit, the humor is a welcome respite from the fatigue and sorrow that are trying to swallow him whole.

“Your apology is accepted,” Steve replies.

“Jokes aside,” Tony says, his voice suddenly solemn, “it’s not looking good, Steve. We won’t have a budget come October if Republicans continue to behave the way they are behaving. Is there nothing more you can do to keep Maria Hill on a leash?”

Steve sighs. Of course it will always go back to Maria Hill. “I’ve been trying, but she’s a tough one to crack. She no longer listens to my senior staff. She doesn’t even listen to me, for crying out loud. My options are running out, to be honest.”

“I actually have an idea, but it’s a bit desperate and will require a lot of faith on your part,” Tony tells him calmly.

Steve wants to hear just about anything so that his administration can be freed from this juvenile war and move on to other pressing issues. “What is it?”

Tony pauses, seemingly a little hesitant to share this particular idea. He is careful about his words when he starts to speak again. “You shut it down, Steve,” he tells him softly.

Steve blinks, wondering if he heard Tony right. “I’m sorry?” 

“Allow a government shutdown. You know we’re not going to accept the budget as it is right now. And I know you’re not happy with its current form either. It’s not going to get any better, Steve. Shut it down, and then we both create the budget. Snub the Republicans in Congress and let us both write it. It’s the only way I can see us passing a fair and balanced budget.” Tony is passionate and ingenious, and Steve can’t help but admit that it’s contagious. And the idea, if Steve is honest with himself, is actually not half-bad.

Steve thinks on it for a moment. It’s a pretty good plan, but like Newton’s third law of motion, Tony’s suggestion is not without its consequences, and these are consequences that Steve is not too happy about. “It’s a valid plan, Tony, but didn’t you ever think to consider how my administration would look like? I don’t know. It leaves a bad taste on the mouth,” Steve tells him honestly.

“I understand your concern,” Tony says sincerely, but Steve is not entirely sure if he truly does. “But if we do this right, you won’t look like the bad guys here. The Republicans will.”

“In case you’ve forgotten Tony, _I’m_ a Republican.”

“Yes, but you’re not their brand of Republican. That’s something that can be used.”

Then Steve gets it. _Oh_. “You’re trying to tell me that I’m going to have to throw my party-mates under the bus.”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”

“I can’t do that, Tony.”

“Why the hell not? Party loyalty?” Tony asks mockingly. Steve does not answer. “Come on, Steve. You’re the leader of the goddamn free world. Your loyalty is to the American people, freedom, democracy and, I don’t know, the right to bear arms. Do you mean to tell me that you would rather protect those people who have twisted Republican values and are using said values for their own gain than do what’s best for the country? I thought you said you wanted to start governing?”

“Yes, but this is not how it’s done, Tony,” Steve answers a little weakly, but he knows that he is losing this battle. “And for the record, if you had done your research, you’d know that my stand on gun control is more Democrat than Republican.”

“That’s beside the point.” Pause. “If this is not how it’s done, then tell me how it is!” Tony’s voice is restrained, but the exasperation is evident. “Convince me that shutting up and holing yourself in the White House while some idiots are running around and undermining your authority is the way to go. Convince me, Steve.”

Steve knows that he can’t, so he settles for honesty. After all, that’s the foundation of the arrangement anyway. “I want to believe that they can change their mind, Tony. I want to believe that they will be able to see reason.”

Tony laughs in disbelief. “I envy you. Your youth and naiveté has yet to be swallowed by this monster that we call a job." 

“It’s neither youth nor being naïve. I have faith in the goodness of people, especially in those who have sworn to serve this country,” Steve defends. It may be a flimsy argument, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

Tony sighs, and Steve can feel that he’s shaking his head as well. “You’re too good to be true. But I suppose I can’t fault you for that. And I see now why the country saw that you’d be better at running this country than Thor.” No one speaks for a moment. “I’ve been in this business longer than you, Steve. I’m being realistic. I want to give us a fighting chance.”

“Us, or you?” Steve doesn’t bother hiding the distrust in his voice.

Tony doesn’t answer immediately, and Steve feels as though he might have hurt him. “I thought you said you’d trust me, Steve.”

“I do trust you, Tony, but I don’t know what to make of what you’re asking me to do. I don’t know if selling out my party-mates is the right thing to do here.” Steve is conflicted, torn between options.

“And selling out this country is?”

“That’s not fair, Tony.”

“No, Steve, it’s _you_ who’s not being fair. The only way for them to change is if they see that what they’re doing is wrong. And they will be able to see that only if you show them as blatantly as possible. I know Maria Hill, and she’s not going to change unless you tie her down and strangle her. Unless she has no other options.”

Steve mulls on it for a moment. He cannot accept that Tony is right, but he won’t say that Tony is wrong either, because he isn’t. “I understand where you’re coming from, Tony. I will think about it, alright? And I might have to discuss this with my staff. I can’t make any promises but…I will think about it.”

“I don’t think I can ask for anything more than that. But thank you, Steve. You know how to reach me when you’ve decided.” And Tony Stark hangs up.

Steve puts his phone aside and buries his face into his hands. He knew going in that being the President of the United States was a mammoth of a job, but he underestimated the effort that he had to put into running a country. Steve has always been a hard worker, and he had always put his 100% into everything he ever had to do, but this job required everything of him, and more. He has always been more than willing to sacrifice himself for his country—he was in the Army after all—but he didn’t know that he had to sacrifice other people, too. 

What was he thinking? Maybe Tony Stark is right. He is naïve. And that is something that he has to change, because if he doesn’t, maybe greater, more painful sacrifices will have to be made.

 _But darling,_ he hears in his head, and perhaps that’s Peggy’s voice, _maybe that’s exactly what the job entails._

//

Everyone knows Natasha Romanoff, and everyone is afraid of Natasha Romanoff. She could have been a spy if she wanted to, but perhaps politics had a certain allure that she could not resist. After all, politics is not so different from espionage. There’s a lot of surveillance, reconnaissance, manipulation, playing games, threats, and having multiple personas. Perhaps the only difference is that politics is much more entertaining than espionage—there’s no better feeling than seeing a grown man squirm and beg for mercy (and the fact that intimidation doesn’t involve blood or dismemberment in this field is a plus). And she fits in this world—along with looking like she could kill you with her thighs, Natasha Romanoff is the perfect fit for the Democrats’ main woman (and man) on everything related to the party, from funding individual candidates to establishing the party’s platform to making sure that Tony Stark stays sober.

But not everyone knows that the seemingly indomitable Nick Fury can also be afraid of Natasha Romanoff. He’s been in the business much longer than she has, but Fury has never seen anyone work or think like Natasha. She’s sharp, frighteningly brilliant, extremely efficient and chillingly unforgiving. Sometimes, she can even be unmerciful. And Fury is far from being an idiot—he would rather have her as an ally than an enemy. Besides, they both want the same things. It’s only a matter of attracting her sensibilities.

“Nick,” Natasha greets him. She proceeds to take the empty seat in front of Nick Fury, takes off her sunglasses and puts it on the table. Her eyebrow is raised and there is an amused look playing on her face.

They are at the back of the room in a discreet, hole-in-the-wall restaurant, away from curious and prying eyes and ears. They even dressed appropriately for the meet. Natasha in a-size-too-big sweatpants and a loose sweater, no makeup, hair in a messy bun and sunglasses as an extra shield—no one would ever recognize her as the prim, dangerous, and impeccably dressed DNC National Chair. And Fury, in a beanie and dark gray hoodie, hides easily in plain sight. This restaurant isn’t even on the radar of the who’s who in Washington, which makes it the perfect spot for clandestine meetings. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be careful, especially now that the Capitol is in danger of blowing up over the budget.

“Thanks for coming,” Fury tells her.

Without a moment to lose, Natasha goes for the jugular. “You know the problem’s on your side of the aisle, Nick.”

Fury chuckles bitterly. “I’m open to new ideas. That’s why I asked you to meet with me.”

That earns him an honest, hearty laugh from her. “You’re a funny man, Fury. You rob me of the White House and then come to me for help when your boy’s in trouble. Desperate much?” She’s only teasing, though. Natasha knows him too well—she knows this meeting isn’t really about the Republican party saving face.

“Aw, you know me, Romanoff. I often reach out to others. Asking for help in times of need is part of the human experience.”

“You’re so full of shit, Fury.” She throws a napkin at him and he fakes a dodge. They both laugh.

“In all seriousness.” Fury is unsmiling and grim now. Back to business. “I can’t contain Hill, and as much as I hate to admit it, you know that as well. And you also know that if she isn’t put in her place, we all lose.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you let Rogers use up his only Fury card so early in the game.”

“The President is the only person I can’t control in the party, Natasha. You of all people should know that.” He sits back and crosses his arms. “And you’re the one to talk. You can’t control your iron boy, either.”

There’s a mischievous smile playing on Natasha’s lips. “It will be a little difficult to believe this, but I actually trust Stark. I don’t need to control him,” she tells Fury humorlessly. “He may be insane and over the top, but he gets the job done. And he’s entertaining to watch.”

Fury contemplates, eyes not leaving Natasha’s. She’s right—Stark has always been a force to be reckoned with because he has always been smart and cunning about his moves. But the President, as much as Fury respects and admires him, has yet to be tested by difficult political choices. This crisis would be his debut into the most real, and very gritty world of politics, so maybe it’s time to leave the big calls to the veterans. “Can _I_ trust him?”

Natasha laughs heartily. “I can trust him to deliver the outcome _I_ want, Fury. I’m not so sure we want the same things.”

“Maybe we do.”

She raises an eyebrow, interested. “Do we really?”

“We haven’t tried to kill each other yet, so I believe we do.”

“Hm.” Natasha closes her eyes and mulls over the words that have been said. “I’m afraid I don’t have a plan for this one. I’m putting all my chips in the Stark pot, and sadly he hasn’t explicitly told me what he plans to do.” Then suddenly there’s a glint in her eye, and this time she gives Fury that mischievous smile that’s been dancing on her lips. “He’ll pay dearly for keeping me in the dark, but I know he’s got something up his sleeve. And if you want in on it, well… You’ll just have to wait and see." 

Fury does a low whistle in surprise. “Wow. _The_ Natasha Romanoff has no strategy for this one. I don’t know if I’m more scared for your party or disappointed at you.”

“I said I didn’t have a plan. I _do_ have a strategy, and that strategy is ‘let Tony do his job.’”

Fury doesn’t say anything.

“That’s the best I can give you.”

“And what would you need from me in return if I accepted to trust Stark?”

“You misunderstand me. This whole crisis is no longer about exchanging goods and services, Nick. You know what’s on the line here.” She stands up and puts her sunglasses back on. “You need to tell your boy to trust Stark. And maybe you should tell yourself that as well.” She tosses a ten-dollar bill on the table and leaves without another word.

Fury sighs. He hates it when Natasha has the last word. He hates it even more when she’s right. He shakes his head. He’s going to need to make some very difficult and possibly painful calls. He takes out his phone.

This is why he can be scared of Romanoff. She makes him do things he doesn’t want to do—even when she’s right. “This is Fury. I need to speak to the President.”


	6. Press Button to Shut Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I've been dying to write a particular section of this chapter, I couldn't resist giving it to all of you in less than a week. Felt like I was vomiting words for a bit there. Also it's quite an emotional chapter and I had to restrain myself from giving you all the backstory, but that's not how I want this fic to play out so you'll have to keep reading to find out everyone's story.
> 
> Also thanks to everyone who've commented and messaged me regarding the beta position that's open! I haven't decided yet because I've yet to organize myself, but I'll keep you all posted.
> 
> Please keep reading, don't forget to bookmark, and leave a word or two to keep me going! Your feedback is always very much appreciated. Thanks for sticking around!

_Washington DC_  
_September 2012_  
_Eight days before the deadline_

It’s been a little over a week since his last conversation with Tony, and he’s had a lot of time to think about the offer. He has also discussed the options with his senior staff—without mentioning his little arrangement with Tony, of course—and their reactions were surprisingly positive, which puts Steve in a sticky personal situation. 

“It’s not a bad idea and could come out good for this administration in the end,” Phil had said when Steve called his senior staff in to discuss about it a few days ago.

“If we spin it right,” Bruce added thoughtfully. “It could actually get us somewhere and also give us a reasonable budget. But it will only work if the Speaker is willing to cooperate.”

Phil nods in agreement. “Stark is crazy, but he’s not stupid. And he’s also a pretty fair-minded guy. He’ll see the merits of shutting down the government.”

 _Because it’s his idea,_ Steve thought to himself with a small smile. But he also had concerns other than Tony’s enthusiasm to cooperate. “But what about Hill? Shouldn’t she have some sort of cushion for the fall that’s about to happen?”

“We can provide that for her,” Bruce mentioned. “If she steps aside and let’s us do our jobs, of course.”

And perhaps that short meeting was what made up Steve’s mind. He couldn’t really find any other alternatives to Tony’s suggestion, because at the core of it all, the Speaker of the House was right. Sacrifices have to be made in order to move the country forward, but for Steve, those sacrifices do not necessarily mean that people who make crucial mistakes will be left behind with nowhere else to go. Everyone deserves a second chance, after all, and he’s more than willing to furnish Maria Hill with one.

So Steve shouldn’t be surprised that he finds himself about to make a call that he doesn’t really want to do. He has never really been good at dealing with the demons of his past, but he has found that it’s also part of the job description. The entirety of his life will not be able to escape the clutches of this job, and that is something he’ll have to accept and live with for the duration of his term.

He rubs his eyes, takes a deep breath, and takes the plunge. “Sharon? Get me Congressman Barnes on the line.”

It takes three minutes, but to Steve it feels like forever. “Line three, sir,” Sharon calls out from outside the Oval.

He picks up the phone before he can change his mind. “Congressman!” Steve greets as lively and as at ease as possible. He doesn’t want this phone call to be enveloped in awkwardness.

“Mr. President,” the Congressman greets back, tone staid and neutral. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, unsure how to proceed. “I suppose there’s no better way than going straight to the point.”

“By all means, sir.” His voice is flat and a little bored.

Steve closes his eyes, a little hurt. But he guesses that he deserves the cold tone that’s coming from the other end of the line. He’s owed Bucky Barnes a call anyway, just not one that’s professional in nature. _Get yourself together, Rogers._  “I want to talk about Maria Hill,” he states more forcefully, more like a commander-in-chief. _  
_

“She’s not going to back down, Mr. President.” The Congressman doesn’t miss a beat.

The straightforwardness of his statement annoys Steve a little. A regular congressman would not have the balls to carry that tone with the President of the United States, but Bucky Barnes isn’t a regular congressman. Not to Steve, at least, and that probably makes all the difference. This is when Steve realizes that he’s got to toughen up—he can’t have the personal clutching the professional by the throat. “With all due respect,” he says that last word a little more strongly than the rest, “but I’d like to be given the chance to finish speaking.” The President is more austere now, obviously trying to assert his authority.

Steve can feel the man at the other end of the line shuffle and try to regain himself. “I apologize.”

“As I was about to say—since Congresswoman Hill has refused to cooperate with this administration, I want her to know that we will proceed without sharing any of our plans with her or her team, you included.” Steve is steely, if a little unforgiving—a total shift from his demeanor during the first few moments of the call. 

“Sir?” There’s shock and disbelief, and maybe a little panic, in the Congressman’s voice. “I don’t understand.”

“We’ve tried. We’ve tried really hard. She doesn’t want to listen. You know we can’t work this way, Congressman.” Steve sighs. He shouldn’t be talking to him like this. Not after everything they’ve been through. “I don’t want her to take the fall from this with nothing, Bucky.” The use of his first name makes Steve sound softer somewhat. _Bucky._ It’s been a while. “She can speak to my Chief of Staff, but we’re taking the wheel on this one. There’s no point in arguing because we’re not changing our minds.”

It takes a few moments before Bucky speaks again, and the static silence is heavy between them. “Yes, I see it. I understand now, sir.” Pause. “I apologize for my tone of voice, earlier. I realize it was disrespectful of your office. I let my personal biases get in the way.” 

Steve doesn’t know what to make of that. “I…accept your apology, Congressman.”

“I also apologize if we’ve given you a rough time these past few months,” he tells Steve. “Things changed after you were elected. We…became something else.”

“What do you mean?”

There is hesitation on Bucky’s part. “I suppose there was a general feeling that Fury neglected the party after you agreed to run for President. We were doing very well, and then suddenly we weren’t. Hill was angrier than anyone because she lost the Speakership. And me, well... You know how close the race was in my district.” 

Yes, Steve knows. He knows it all too well, remembers clearly how the party made a last ditch effort by sending him to Bucky’s district. Bucky won in the end, but it was at the expense of their relationship. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be, but that doesn’t mean Steve doesn’t want to make amends.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I had no idea about this, but I don’t excuse my ignorance. I know this is partially my fault.” Steve rubs his temples and takes a deep breath. “The only way I can make this right is if we work together to push our agenda. I can’t give you back the seats you’ve lost, but I can give you my full support. However, it’s important that you work with me here.” 

“I know. I see that now, and I’m sorry for all the trouble we’ve caused.”

“I’m sorry too. For this and for what happened between the two of us.”

The other end of the line suddenly turns quiet. Steve is sure that Bucky doesn’t know how to reply to that, and frankly, he also doesn’t know what else to say. 

“It just wasn’t meant to be,” Bucky finally says, resignation clear in his voice.

Steve can’t help but agree with that. “Thank you for taking my call, Congressman Barnes. I look forward to working with you in the future.”

“Thank you, sir. I serve at the pleasure of the President.” And they both hang up.

 _Well,_ Steve thinks, _that’s done._ It could have gone worse, but he’s okay with how the conversation went. They can’t really go back to how things were—there’s too much history there—but there’s hope. They can be friends as well as colleagues, and Steve is looking forward to that possibility.

However, there is no time to dwell on that—there is still much work to be done. The deadline is in eight days, and there are still many things to be ironed out if this plan of Tony’s is going to work. He looks around the Oval Office and tries to take it all in. Everything that’s happening is intense and fast-paced, but he has to admit that it’s kind of exciting. Who knew that adding a little bit of crazy (thanks to Tony) could make things fun?

But he can see that the road is long and arduous, and it starts with Tony and getting the budget off their backs.

//

_Three days before the deadline_

When Kate rings the doorbell to Clint’s apartment, there is no answer at first. She peeks through the windows and sees that there is no movement in the darkness. It could be possible that he isn’t at home, but no one, not even the team, has actually seen him outside of work for a while now. She rings the doorbell again. She knows that Clint needs more than a friend after the events of the past few months—even if he doesn’t know it or won’t admit it, he needs his best friend, and Kate has been a shitty one of late. She plans to make it up to him.

Finally, she hears muffled footsteps from inside the apartment. The door swings open and there stands Senator Clint Barton of New York, looking like a big, drunk baby in nothing but his socks, his underwear, and a shirt. He also looks like he hasn’t groomed himself in over a week. All in all, he looks terrible, more like a homeless person than a member of the United States Senate.

“Wow,” is the only thing Kate can say. Clint shrugs and lets her in.

The inside of his apartment is even worse. Take-out boxes are strewn all over the living room and there are dishes in the sink that seem to have been there for weeks. It’s a nightmare. Kate should have come before the whole thing with Natasha exploded into epic proportions, and way before Clint started showing signs of disrepair due to the aftershocks of the rejection.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” he mutters as he tries to clear the coffee table of trash by tossing them on the floor.

“No, Clint, stop.” Kate sighs. “Here, take these.” She shoves the six-pack and the bag of fastfood that she had been carrying into his hands. “Sit, drink your beer and eat your greasy food while I clean this pigsty. This is pathetic, Clint.”

Clint says nothing. He sits on the couch, opens a beer, and eats a burger, clearly accepting his situation.

It takes Kate about a little over hour to throw away the accumulating trash and deposit the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. His bedroom and bathroom weren’t safe from the mess either, and she cleaned that up as well. To be honest, she’s more sad than angry that Clint had allowed himself to become like this, and she’s frustrated at herself for not rushing to his side the moment she noticed that the Clint Barton that had told her sixteen years ago to follow her heart was lost somewhere in that unkempt body sitting on the couch in this hellhole of an apartment.

But it’s more of a fault of circumstance than anything else. The Natasha thing couldn’t be contained and blew up into his face, and then the budget happened. Because everything was going on all at once, Kate couldn’t find the time and the energy to be there for the man who had shown her that there was something more to this world than that fake and plastic life she used to call her own. In a way, she owes Clint everything that has made her so happy for the longest time.

“Clint,” she says finally after cleaning up. Her expression is severe, and Clint looks as though he is bracing himself for chastising. She softens at his reaction, reminding herself that he’s having a tougher time than anyone else at the moment. “I know things are crazy but you can’t just let go like this. This isn’t the way to live.” She takes a seat beside him. “You have to start taking care of yourself.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, but rather opens a can of beer and hands it to her. Kate accepts it gladly and takes a big gulp. “Tony asked you to check up on me?” Clint asks her after about a minute of silence.

“Even if he did, you know that’s not why I’m here. Taking care of you isn’t part of my job description,” Kate tells him, a little frustrated. “But sometimes, it can be part of being your best friend. You know how important you are to me.” 

Clint doesn’t say anything yet, or make it known how he’s responding emotionally to Kate being here. He takes a swig of his beer. “You doing okay?”

“I should be asking you that question.” 

“I’m doing okay, Kate.” His voice is dull, without emotion and a little restrained.

“You know that’s bullshit, Clint.” She shakes her head and takes another sip of her beer. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”

Clint only regards Kate with desolate eyes. There is barely any light left in them, which has Kate worrying for him even more. She prods him with his elbow to speak. “You don’t need to do this,” he finally says. “I can handle this on my own.”

She puts a hand on his arm gently, offering comfort. “But you don’t have to. I know I haven’t really been here for you since Tony became the Speaker but that doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to come to me for help, Clint. I’m still… I’m still a part of your life.”

He doesn’t look at her, head down as if ashamed. “I didn’t want to burden anyone with this,” he tells her softly. “It’s stupid anyway.” 

“It’s not stupid. Loving someone isn’t stupid. Don’t tell me you learned that one from Tony.”

Clint chuckles,and Kate couldn’t be happier to hear at least a modicum of cheer still present in him. “No I didn’t, actually. Tony is Tony and he gave me useless advice, but he told me to do what I think is best, offhandedly.”

“Sounds like my boss, alright.” She nudges him again. “You still won’t tell me what’s going on?”

He takes a moment and swallows another gulp of beer. “You know I’m in love with her, Kate. I want to be with her. Obviously, she doesn’t feel the same way, or I wouldn’t be—” he stretches his arms wide, as if to hug his whole apartment, “— _this_ right now.”

Kate sighs, but she understands. This is _Natasha Romanoff_ they’re talking about, after all—Natasha Romanoff, the big and badass boss of the DNC, respected and feared in both sides of the aisle; Natasha Romanoff, the woman with the gaze of death, seemingly emotionless, cold-blooded and heartless. In all her years working for Tony, Kate had never even observed so much as an inkling of a weakness from Natasha. Now, looking at Clint, she’s more or less figured out how Natasha can remain so thick-skinned: by eliminating all possibilities of fragility.

Then again, Kate has never seen Natasha so comfortable and so close to anyone else other than Clint. He has a rapport with Natasha that is unique to just the two of them—not even her boss’ relationship with the DNC chair can be compared to what Clint has with her. “She could feel the same way, you know,” Kate suggests after thinking on it for a bit. 

Clint smirks. “Yeah, right. Are you alright in the head, Bishop?” 

“I’m serious! That dynamic that you and Natasha have? I’ve never seen her have that with anyone else.”

He takes a deep breath and exhales. “Look, even if you were right and she does have feelings for me, she doesn’t want to act on it.” He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant about the whole thing. “She doesn’t want to be with me.”

“Well, it’s her fucking loss, Barton. You’re a catch and she knows it. Meanwhile, you have to suck it up and come back to us. No matter how much of an amazing woman she is, she’s not worth being like this. _No one_ is worth being like this.” Kate hopes she’s getting through to him. 

He’s looking at the ground and doesn’t say anything.

“Clint?”

There is still no answer.

“Hello? Clint?” She nudges him with her elbow and that’s when he pays attention.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

Kate sighs, as if to give up. “I just—come back to us, alright? I know there is no other woman like Natasha out there but maybe you’ll find another great person to get to know and fall in love with. We need you—all of you, not some walking body that looks like you—back in action.”

“I know you’re right, but that’s easier said than done.”

“That’s what I’m here for, asshole. To commiserate with.”

Clint just smiles at her, still sad, but at least Kate sees that there is a little bit of hope in his eyes. She kisses him on the cheek. “It’ll be okay, Clint.”

“Yeah.”

They sit there quietly for a few minutes, with Kate resting her head on his shoulder, her hand on his thigh and his hand on hers. She’s missed this, missed being together like this—no words needed, just their presence and awareness of each other. She has missed her best friend above all else, and it feels good to be like this again, even if it’s just for a brief moment.

It’s Clint who breaks the silence. “How is your dad?” he asks, and it seems like he’s sounding better already.

Kate snorts. “He hasn’t talked to me since I packed my bags and took a plane across the country to work for Tony Stark, Clint. What makes you think things will change this time around?” 

“Tony’s Speaker of the House now. That might get you a call from him, if only so he can ask for a favor or two.”

“Right,” Kate replies with a laugh. “Nah. My father has too much pride to do that. And after all these years, I think he has accepted the fact that I can never be the woman he wants me to be. He has my older sister for that, anyway.”

“Does she still hate me?”

“Well, let’s see. One, you convinced Columbia University to offer her younger sister an archery scholarship so she can freely choose a major without fearing daddy and his threats of holding back his moolah if she chose against his wishes. Two, you put all these dreams of social justice and serving the country into her younger sister’s head, which distanced her from her selfish, elitist, staunchly Republican family. And finally three, you convinced her younger sister to move all the way to California to work for the politician their daddy dislikes the most.” She shrugs and pretends to be dumb. “So yeah, I think she still hates you.” 

Clint looks at her with clueless eyes, pretending as though this is the first time he’s heard this. “So she probably didn’t vote for me.”

She smacks his arm in amusement. “Asshole.”

“Thanks,” he says with his campaign smile. 

Kate smiles back, but hers is genuine and thankful. “Now that’s the Clint Barton I know and love.”

They fall back into silence again. When Kate starts a different conversation, it's shop talk, and it’s more about her apprehensions. “Do you think Tony is doing the right thing?” she asks softly, tentatively.

“I only trust Tony Stark with two things in this world: fixing my gadgets, and politics. He knows what he’s doing, Kate. What’s with the sudden doubting?”

Kate shrugs. “I guess I just want to hear it from someone else. It’s just… I’ve been working for him for so long that sometimes I think I don’t know if he’s still being logical about things.”

“Does your gut instinct say he’s wrong?” he asks.

Kate thinks for a moment. “No,” she answers with certainty.

“Then there’s your answer,” he reassures her. “Sometimes Tony sees things that we mere mortals can’t see. Geniuses tend to have that skill. So trust your boss. God knows everyone else in this crazy party does.”

Kate laughs, because it really is a crazy party, and their leader is nothing short of brilliantly insane.

They talk more about what they’ve missed in each other’s lives. The food is long gone and beers are slowly being consumed. It’s comfortable and fun, and Kate can’t believe she had gone without her best friend for more than half a year. She has missed hanging out, public roles tucked away for later, and just being the Kate and Clint before the Speakership, before the Capitol—the Kate and Clint of Hell’s Kitchen, New York City, who wreaked havoc at Morningside Heights during Kate’s years at Columbia; who knew all the Halal guys’ names and ate at all the good food trucks in the city; who gave the DNC a headache with Clint’s continued participation in their shenanigans. They gave no fucks and took no shit from anyone.

Kate thinks that maybe both their private and public lives need a little bit more of that devil may care attitude right now. It will surely give the Democrats a recurring migraine and the Republicans a run for every last penny to the party’s name.

When Kate bids Clint goodnight, he hugs her tight before she leaves. She finds that she doesn’t want to let go just yet. “Thank you,” he whispers in her ear. “You don’t know how much I’ve needed this.”

“I did know, I just didn’t come soon enough,” she replies, regret clear in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“But you still came. You came in the middle of all of this. That’s all that matters.”

“You know I love you, asshole.” 

“I love you too, jerkface.”

Before Clint closes the door of his apartment, Kate bids him goodbye. “Bye bye, birdy.”

Clint’s laugh echoes throughout the hallway and into the empty street. Kate smiles. Only after being friends with this man for half her life does she realize that the sound of his laughter is absolutely _glorious._

//

 _Day of the deadline_  
_A few hours before midnight_

Tony is in the White House again, and like the meeting last June, his team is with him to make a last ditch effort to pass a budget and keep the government running. While the Democrats know that the opposite happening is a possibility, they don’t know that a shutdown is what Tony actually wants. He’s trying not to think of how Pepper and Natasha will respond to what’s going to happen, and prays that he’ll get to keep his balls after they are done with him.

It’s all very thrilling to Tony, even with the danger of him losing important body parts to the two most terrifying women he’s ever known. 

They all stare at Tony and his team when they walk the halls of the White House and make their way to the Roosevelt room for this do-or-die meeting. Whenever they do this walk of fame (or shame, depending on which side you’re on) amongst Republicans, they have only one rule: act as if they own the place. They know it gets into the Republicans’ heads. They did this when they had the meeting last June, and they’re doing it again today—Tony strutting, Wade making crude jokes, Pepper raising her eyebrow at everybody and looking like she owns the place, Clint and Thor acting like frat boys, and Janet flirting with Hank Pym. He’s got Clint and Wade as additional back-up this time because, well, he needs cooler heads to prevail later in case things go south for him.

Unlike the last time, the Democrats are the first people in the Roosevelt room. This is understandable—Hill and her team could be having last minute negotiations with the President right now, but of course Tony knows that if that’s the case, it’s all just a farce. If Steve Rogers is as honest as he says he is, he won’t double cross Tony and throw away his trust at this crucial juncture.

But apparently they weren’t with the President, because when they arrive minutes after Tony and his team do, they’re coming from the lobby. Maria Hill does not look happy—she shoots daggers at Tony the moment she lays her eyes on him, which is to be expected. Tony, being Tony, responds with a flying kiss, which pisses her off even more. Pepper motions him to restrain himself, but it’s obvious that the exchange amused her as well because she doesn’t try too hard to stop him.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Pepper whispers in his ear.

“Relax, Pep,” he tells her. “I’ve got this.”

Pepper doesn’t ask again.

The White House Chief of Staff comes in right after the Republicans do, and just like the previous meeting, he tries to make peace with everyone. Tony has always liked Bruce, respects him a lot too, so he listens to him when Bruce tells everyone to settle down. Kind of. He doesn’t stop giving Maria Hill smug smiles when they’ve all sat down and are just waiting for the President to arrive, and Pepper gives up on telling Tony to behave himself. Some things will just never change.

It occurs to Tony that this will be the first time he will face Steve since beginning their agreement. He doesn’t know how their new relationship will play out in front of their colleagues. Of course, the goal is _not_ to show that they’re more than just the President and the Speaker of the House. They may be Steve and Tony to each other now, but Washington is certainly not ready for that just yet. Tony can play his part well, but can Steve? The Jaws theme plays in Tony’s head as he waits for the President to make his grand entrance, even more excited at the events that will unfold. Whatever happens, at least he’s having a lot of fun.

When the President does arrive, Tony feels like the air is being sucked out of his lungs. Because, yes, that is a fine specimen of a human being right there, but it’s actually a little weird putting the President and Steve in the same body—they’re like two different people to him. This Steve Rogers, the one who’s brow is furrowed, who’s lips are in a thin line, and is surrounded by Secret Service, is a little distant and seems unreachable, like the pièce de résistance of a much awaited museum exhibition. The Steve he’s been talking to for the past two months is warm and approachable, always laughing and always a little silly, like a golden retriever. The dissonance is disconcerting, and to be honest, Tony doesn’t like it very much.

But when they meet each other’s eyes and shake hands, there’s a hint of smile on Steve’s mouth. Tony knows that smile, he’s _heard_ that smile many times over the phone. So yeah, maybe this is the Steve that he’s gotten to know over the past couple of months. He trusts this Steve, so Tony will also have to trust that he can play his part well.

“Good evening, Mr. President,” Tony greets Steve rather sharply. He doesn’t want to be caught smiling and looking comfortable around Steve.

Steve gives him a terse nod, perhaps feeling the same way Tony does about being too familiar with each other. “Good evening, Mr. Speaker. Shall we?”

When the President gives the floor to the members of the United States Congress to begin the negotiations, the two sides erupt into chaotic debate. It’s no surprise, really, and Tony just wants to sit back and watch everything unfold while eating popcorn. He lets Pepper handle the reins for the most part of the arguing—Tony will intervene when it’s time. He glances at Steve every once in a while, and it’s clear that he’s also waiting for the right opportunity to jump in just like Tony. He’s sneaking glances at Tony, too, trying to determine if the moment is right for the picking.

“…then we might as well shut down the whole goddamn government!” Maria Hill declares.

And there it is.

Tony takes that as his cue, but Steve beats him to the punch. “Then shut it down.”

The room suddenly becomes quiet. Everyone except Tony, Bruce, and Phil, turns to look at the President in disbelief. Tony tries to hide a self-satisfied and triumphant smile, but it’s not over yet.

“Sir?” someone asks in the middle of all this tension. Tony’s not sure who, because he’s too busy trying not to look so smug.

“You heard me. If you can’t write me a reasonable budget, then shut the federal government down.” Steve is sure in his words and is completely unforgiving. Tony thinks it’s kind of attractive, but he shoots down that thought. It’s not the time and the place to be the actual flirty little shit that he is. But can anyone blame him? He’s having way too much fun.

Maria Hill clears her throat. “Mr. President? If you could please clarify?”

Steve doesn’t back down. “My office submitted a fair and balanced budget to Congress. Somewhere along the way, it was torn apart and transformed into this monster of a document. All of you know that I don’t want a continuing resolution. I want a budget, but not this budget that you’ve brought me. And if you can’t get your act together and give me one that is acceptable, then I want this government shut down until I get something that is presentable to the American people.”

Damn. The guy definitely knows how to boss people around. Tony is so awe-stricken that for a moment he forgets that he’s also playing a very important role. Pepper nudges him, urging him to speak. He clears his throat. Everyone in the room is anticipating his words. “Yeah, let’s shut it down,” he says casually but with finality. He doesn’t take his eyes off Maria Hill. “I’d much rather work with the President than with the rest of you so, if you don’t mind, let’s shut this whole thing down so we can actually get to work.”

Tony turns to his team. They’re all looking at him with some surprise in their eyes, but there are no shades of anger or betrayal. Tony is glad for that, because they still trust him and he still has their backs. Meanwhile, Maria Hill is looking to Bucky Barnes for support, but he avoids her desperate gaze. He actually feels a little bad for her, but that feeling is fleeting and goes away as fast as it came to him. Revenge is sweeter.

Maria stutters and tries to salvage the situation. “Sir—“

Steve doesn’t let her finish. It’s clear that he is eager to move on. “I fully agree with the Speaker of the House.” He turns to Tony, his expression softer. “Are you up for this?” His tone is light and a little too personal for a meeting in the Roosevelt room.

For a moment Tony thinks Steve has forgotten that they’re in a room full of other people and not just on the phone. Lucky for Steve, Tony almost never forgets to stay in character because he’s always putting on a show. He flashes the President his campaign smile, the one that’s won over his district for six consecutive elections. “When am I never?”

Maria Hill tries to negotiate again, but the meeting ends without the President hearing her. Bruce ushers her to somewhere, maybe to his office. But it’s final: the federal government will officially shut down at midnight. Tony feels vindicated, and Pepper has to hold him back from taunting the Republicans. “It’s really not nice to gloat,” she tells him, yet it’s clear that she’s satisfied with the turn of events and also wants to relish this victory in front of the Republicans.

Tony catches Steve’s eye before he leaves for the Oval, and the President gives him a small smile and a nod. It’s not over yet. There is still much work to be done.

When he gets in the car on his way home, he calls Kate immediately. “So?” she asks, clearly hungry for news.

“I owe you a bottle of really good scotch.” It’s Tony’s way of saying _thank you for being there for me despite your very vocal objections._  

Kate’s victorious smile is not lost on Tony’s end. “Pleasure doing business with you,” she tells him. “But keeping Natasha and Pepper from figuring out that you’re in bed with the President, so to speak, is an entirely different and more expensive transaction.”

Tony laughs. “Of course it is.”

He leans back and closes his eyes and lets Kate babble away. The government is shutting down, but hey, that’s all in a day’s work.


	7. Trust Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'd like to apologize for the glacial pace. I have been drowning in work for the past few months, and just couldn't find the time to write anything other than my work submissions. Again, this story has not yet been abandoned. It's just going really, really slowly.
> 
> Just. Thank you so so much for sticking around and still leaving comments even if its been months since I last updated. They honestly keep me going and keep me writing bit by bit. So please keep leaving your comments! I really really do appreciate them. Thank you thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this chapter :)
> 
> By the way, this is the end of Arc 1. Next chapter officially begins Arc 2!

_Washington DC_  
_October 2012_  
_Shutdown Day 1_

 _Let’s have brunch_ is Natasha’s way of saying _report to me immediately._ Pepper doesn’t think twice about it—nobody does when Natasha Romanoff asks for you—not because she’s scared of the DNC National Chair (mostly), but because Natasha is one of her few good friends and they’re well overdue for an honest to goodness talk about matters outside of politics.

Pepper arrives at the café promptly, as everyone else is wont to do when meeting Natasha. The staff greets her with great familiarity—female Democrats are frequent customers of this particular restaurant, so it’s not really surprising. She’s lead to their usual table in the patio, sits down, orders her usual, and waits patiently for her party’s fearless National Chair.

She takes a look around and notices that there are more government employees in the café than usual, thanks to the shutdown. The President did make it clear that he would only negotiate with the leader of the Democratic Party, which could only mean closed door meetings with Tony, and perhaps if they’re lucky, Thor. Pepper is not exactly worried about getting what they want—Tony will see to it that they do—she’s just apprehensive about _how_ the Speaker is going to go about getting what they want.

She’s known Tony for half her life, attached to his hip as his girlfriend for five of that, yet somehow she still doesn’t completely _know_ him. This whole affair with the budget is proof of that. And as much as she hates to admit it, Tony and blind trust don’t exactly mix well together, like alcohol and...well, Tony.

Natasha should have some answers. Deadly ones, but they’re answers nonetheless.

The restaurant suddenly goes still, and Pepper knows that Natasha has just walked through the doors. It’s amazing how much fear she can instill in a room full of people who wield so much power. Pepper has her own stride, but Natasha is in a league all on her own. Thank heavens they’re on the same side. Fighting against her would be like pushing against a concrete wall—very nearly impossible.

Pepper stands to give her a kiss hello. “Good morning, Natasha,” she greets cheerfully.

“A good morning indeed,” Natasha replies with a glint in her eye. She turns to the waiter. “I’ll have my usual. But open a bottle of your finest champagne and give us a pitcher of fresh orange juice. We’re celebrating.”

Pepper raises an eyebrow, confused yet delighted. “Are we really?”

Natasha tilts her head and smiles mischievously. “The Republicans are in the doghouse and we’re in bed with the President. I’d kiss Stark, but I don’t really want to get on that train, no offense.”

“None taken,” Pepper responds with a shrug. “Speaking of Tony—“

The waiter interrupts her as he brings them their drinks. He sets two flutes on the table, pops open the champagne, pours it in and follows that with the orange juice. “Madams, your drinks are on the house. The staff sends our congratulations,” he tells them with a wide, almost celebratory smile.

Natasha lifts her flute up to him as thanks. He nods curtly and takes his leave, leaving the two women alone once again.

“That’s awfully nice of them,” Pepper says, amused.

Natasha shrugs. “When in the company of friends and allies…” She leans back, that familiar and mischievous smile playing on her lips. The DNC National Chair is clearly satisfied with the turn of events. “Anyway, you were saying?”

Pepper takes a deep breath. “Tony.”

“Ah. You’re worried.” Natasha tilts her head and considers Pepper for a bit. “You don’t trust him?”

Pepper shakes her head. “It’s not that, I just…think he’s acting too independently from the team, if you understand what I mean?”

Natasha says nothing, which prompts Pepper to continue. “It’s like he has a plan that he’s not sharing with anyone else. I don’t know. I just don’t like the fact that he seems to be acting alone on this when we should be working together to grab this victory by the throat.”

Their food arrives, and Pepper watches Natasha, her face not moving a muscle. This is the Democrats’ behind-the-scenes puppeteer deep in thought, putting the pieces of a puzzle together in her head. It takes about another five minutes before Natasha finally shows some emotion: she purses her lips, which means she’s not happy, but not entirely surprised that she isn’t.

“I admit I’ve been giving Tony a lot of freedom lately. I haven’t been asking too many questions because he’s been delivering good results for the party. And I like the fact I annoy Nick Fury whenever I let Tony lose.” Natasha sighs. “I don’t think I’m going about this whole thing the wrong way, but if you think I am, you should tell me now.”

Pepper shakes her head. “No, it’s nothing like that, Tash. I just don’t like that he’s being a selfish bastard about all this.” She jabs angrily at her scrambled eggs. “It’s so frustrating. I just want to know what he’s up to so I can help him!”

Natasha chuckles. “Well, for one thing, he’s still acting like the Tony Stark we know and tolerate.”

“So we should leave him alone, is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s my plan of attack for now. He hasn’t disappointed me, and at the moment we’re in really a good position, so I’m going to continue giving Stark the freedom to keep his secrets. But I will be watching him more closely now. I suggest you should, too.”

Pepper nods. “Alright. I’ll talk to Janet as well. The boys are a little too loyal to him, so I’ll leave them out of the loop for now.”

“Good.” Natasha pauses to take a bite from her toast and drink from her mimosa. “Don’t worry too much, Pep. You know I won’t let things go out of control. And Tony knows what he’s doing.”

“I hope you’re right.” Pepper opens her mouth but hesitates for a split second, as if she’s still trying to muster up some courage. “So, Natasha. How are you doing?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, suspicious of where the conversation is headed. “I know that’s not the question that you really want to ask me.”

“That’s creepy, you know, when you do that,” Pepper tells her with amusement and a hint of terror.

“There’s a reason why I am where I am,” Natasha replies nonchalantly. “You want to ask about Clint, so go ahead. Ask me.”

She goes for it. “It’s no secret that you’ve been sleeping together, but something’s changed. We hardly ever see Clint outside of the Hill anymore.” Pepper sighs, looks at Natasha as if to appeal a case. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but I just want you to know that I’m here for you if ever you need someone to talk to.”

Natasha tilts her head, seemingly considering her friend’s offer. Pepper waits. Natasha normally doesn’t take her sweet time to think—she’s always on her toes, quick to give solutions to seemingly difficult problems. Her personal life, however, is an entirely different story.

Pepper tries again. “I know it’s none of my business, but—“

“It isn’t,” Natasha says suddenly, frowning. “I appreciate the concern, Pep, but we’re both consenting adults. We can handle ourselves.”

“You’re definitely an adult. I’m not sure about Clint,” Pepper notes with a chuckle.

Natasha smiles. “Can’t help but agree with that.”

As if on cue, Natasha’s phone rings and she answers it wordlessly, only to end the call moments after. She stands up without warning and beckons Pepper to accompany her to the bar inside, where the TV is set to one of the news channels. It’s Tony on screen, having a small press conference outside of the White House—gorgeous, charismatic, ex-fiancé Tony—and he’s taking it all in stride, milking the shutdown for all its worth. Pepper and Natasha watch intently.

“Mr. Speaker, did the Democrats expect that talks would fail and lead to a shutdown?” a reporter asks.

Tony snickers, and Pepper knows exactly what he’s going to say. “Come on. We’ve wanted to work with House Republicans since this whole shebang began. We are responsible lawmakers—a shutdown was never our end game. We never wanted one, and we certainly didn’t expect one.”

Follow-up question. “Are you saying the Republicans are solely to blame for the federal government shutting down?”

“Yes,” he says, never missing a beat. “Although let me clarify that: Republicans _in Congress_ are to blame for the mess we’re in right now. President Rogers has been more than amenable to setting aside party differences and working together. I can’t say the same for the other members of his party.”

“You’re willing to work with the President on creating a budget as soon as possible?”

“Why do you think I’m here? Look, I don’t claim to have a monopoly on knowing what's best for this country. President Rogers and I may be with different parties, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work together. This shutdown is all the more proof that we are willing to go beyond party lines to solve this country’s problems,” Tony declares with the finesse and arrogance of a confident statesman.

The questions continue for a few more minutes. Pepper steals a glance at Natasha. “So?”

Natasha says without hesitation, “He’s working with Rogers.”

Pepper can only stare at Natasha in disbelief. The fearless and fearsome DNC National Chair turns to look at Pepper with a wicked smile. Pepper knows that smile, and she is deathly afraid of that smile. That smile means that no matter how brilliant Tony’s plan is, no matter how well this all turns out for the party, Natasha will be plotting her revenge on Tony for keeping her in the dark.

The beautiful, terrible smile lights up the whole bar and doesn’t go away. “And I’m going to let him.”

//

The press conference outside the White House was an accident that Tony had decided to take full advantage of. Under normal circumstances, he would have lorded it all over everyone who was watching (especially Hill and her lackeys, who were _definitely_ watching), but it seemed distasteful, seeing as he was in cahoots with the President and was on his way to meet with him about the budget. So he turned his asshole down a notch. He will, however, hear from Natasha soon—he knows her well enough to know that his little show at front steps of the White House would have given him away. Natasha is just that good, and also that fucking terrifying.

The White House is a ghost town, and it’s kind of freaking Tony out a little. He has never seen it so empty and silent. There is still security present, of course, but a federal shutdown means that all non-essential personnel are not be allowed to go to work until a budget has been agreed on. Tony is hoping to do just that and drag everyone back to work as soon as possible.

Sharon, the President’s special assistant, is the first person Tony sees who’s actually at her desk today. He’s in the outer room of the Oval Office waiting to be called in, and yes, he is a little intimidated. Just a little, mind you, and mostly because this is the first time that he actually has a meeting in the Oval. Even when he was Minority Leader, he wasn’t important enough to merit the privilege of being called to the most famous and most powerful office in the world.

So yes, he is a little intimidated, but he’s Tony Stark. He’ll die before he ever admits to anyone that he gets intimidated. He’ll also die before he ever admits to anyone that he took special care getting ready for this meeting. Even JARVIS was mocking him without being too obvious about it. Tony didn’t even berate his AI for it, to his surprise. He blames all of this being out of character on the current circumstances, since a federal shutdown is _technically_ the government being out of character of sorts. He _definitely_ did not step up today because he wants to impress Steve Rogers. _Everyone_ is impressed by him without any effort expended on his part whatsoever.

“Mr. Speaker?” Sharon calls out softly, drawing Tony away from the internal argument against himself. “The President will see you now.”

Well, then. Showtime.

He truly doesn’t know what to expect. He doesn’t know how to go about this, either. It’s one thing to see Steve with all those people around them. It’s another to meet with him one-on-one. There is no protocol to follow for the latter.

When he enters the Oval Office, Steve is leaning against the Resolute Desk, smiling as he watches Tony walk inside. He doesn’t say anything to welcome the Speaker of the House. It’s a little too awkward for Tony’s liking. He stands there like an idiot while the President is smiling at him, and yet no one is saying anything. He looks around, trying to ease the discomfort in the room. He notices the couches in the middle of the room and asks with hesitation, “Shouldn’t we…?”

“Oh! Yes, of course, have a seat,” Steve replies quickly. “I apologize,” he says as they take their seats in front of each other. “This is all just a little weird. I’m used to talking to you on the phone, and now you’re here. It’s a little disconcerting.”

“Believe me, you’re not the only one feeling that way right now,” Tony tells him with a small, nervous laugh. “I don’t know how to address you. I’m not entirely sure our usual exchanges are applicable in this setting.”

Steve shrugs. “Why shouldn’t it be? Our familiarity has so far been productive and positive. I don’t see why we should change that because we’re in the Oval Office.”

“Look, I’m all for rebelling against the system and all that—I’m the poster boy for it, believe me—but there’s a reason why things like not calling the President by their given name are done,” Tony tries to explain, a little exasperated.

“These are extenuating circumstances,” Steve tells him, unperturbed. “I would much rather you call me Steve.”

Tony throws his hands up as if to surrender, but he has a smile on his face. “Fine. I acquiesce. Steve and Tony it is.”

Steve grins like a child who just got what he wanted, and then turns on his serious mode. Fun time is over that quickly, apparently. “Before we begin I just want to thank you for taking this road with me. I know putting your trust in someone you don’t know couldn’t have been easy, but when I saw your small press conference earlier, I knew I had made the right call in putting my trust in you.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“When they asked you if Republicans were to blame for the shutdown, you didn’t mention a name.”

“I didn’t need to. Maria Hill is the most powerful Republican in the House. The press will put two and two together.”

“But naming and shaming is something you do constantly. You never hesitate to call out names whenever its time to play the blame game. So thank you for sparing her.”

Tony tilts his head and considers Steve for a moment. He’s impressed that the President managed to figure that one out. “I’m sure Maria already got a mouthful from you and Fury. I don’t need to add to her pain,” he clarifies with a shrug.

“Still. Thank you.”

A beat. Then, “Shouldn’t we start fixing the budget?”

“Yes,” Steve answers enthusiastically. He takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. “Let’s get the federal government up and running.”

Tony will emphatically deny that at that moment, he found Steve Rogers and his jacket-removal and sleeve-roll motions attractive. No, he’s not even going to go there.

//

It’s seven minutes past three in the afternoon, and Steve’s stomach is grumbling. He hadn’t even noticed that they had been working for more than four hours without food. For someone with his metabolism, that just simply won’t do, and he’s sure Tony’s starving as well.

“How about some lunch?” he asks Tony after their relatively heated discussion on the appropriations bill on education.

Tony stops, as if to think. “You know what, I didn’t even notice that I was hungry.”

“You and I both,” Steve says with a smile. “Unfortunately, the shutdown also affects the White House kitchen staff, so we’ll have to make our own lunch in the residence.”

“I have no problem with that. Besides, photographers will be watching the colonnade, so it will be good publicity,” Tony tells him casually.

That throws Steve off for a good second, but then he regains himself. No matter how familiar they get with one another, Tony Stark will always be Tony Stark. He will always be thinking of appearances. “Of course. Shall we?”

They head out to the west colonnade in relative silence, the Rose Garden alive and fragrant against the soft autumn breeze. The White House is stunning from the perspective of someone inside, more so now that everything seems to be so still, thanks to the shutdown. Steve has always loved walking here, and it has always made for great mornings. And it has also made for great evenings too, no matter how difficult and stressful his day had been.

“The garden is beautiful,” Tony says suddenly, as if reading Steve’s mind. “I honestly never thought I’d have the privilege to walk here, especially under these circumstances.”

That statement piques Steve’s interest. “You never dreamed you’d walk around the White House as President?”

Tony laughs heartily. “Oh, Jesus, no.” He continues to laugh like he’d just been told the greatest joke in the world. “Where did you get the idea that I wanted to become President?” He wipes actual tears from his eyes. “Good lord, that was really funny. Oh, boy. Wow.”

Steve watches him in a mix of confusion and amusement. “I always thought that you’d be the DNC’s next bet.”

“Don’t let Natasha hear you say that,” Tony says, still chuckling. “Seriously, can you imagine me as the President of the United States?”

“Why not? You obviously have good intentions for this country. You’re brilliant at what you do and the way you are able to command an audience is just sheer talent. I’d be scared out of my mind if I were to run against you in the next elections,” Steve tells him honestly.

Tony feigns stupefaction. “Have you been stalking me, Mr. President?”

“You know very well that we’re in the business of knowing our enemies, Tony. Not that you're my enemy, of course.”

Tony shakes his head. “I’m uncomfortable with how you believe in the best of people all the time,” he jokes. “And if you did do your research on me, you’ll know exactly why I am all those things you mentioned.”

Steve can’t help but notice how Tony’s tone darkened at that last statement. He decides to leave what he thinks to be a sensitive topic alone for now. He waves his hand as if to wave off the bad juju. “None of those matter. What matters is the difference you’re trying to make now. You’re doing a hell of a job as Speaker of the House.”

“Willing to say that on the record?” Tony asks, as if to test Steve.

Steve, however, doesn’t miss a beat. “Gladly.”

That stops Tony in his tracks, and Steve gives a small laugh. “ _You_ believe in the worst of people all the time.” He opens the door to the residence and holds it out for a still dumbfounded Tony. “Come on, hurry up. I’m starving.”

Save for security, the residence is empty, if not hollow. Somehow, Tony notices how vacant this part of the White House is. “Must be lonely living here on your own.”

Steve doesn’t answer that, and he tries very hard not think of the life he and Peggy could have had here. There’s no way Tony couldn’t have known about Peggy, so he must have said that as retaliation for Steve’s earlier observations about Tony’s character. Despite the rapport that they’ve established over the course of this whole budget debacle, he suspects that Tony is still very wary of this new relationship, thus the tit for tat attitude.

“Kitchen is this way,” is all he says to Tony in reply. That still stung him, no matter what motivations Tony might have had with those words.

The Executive Residence is on the second floor of the White House, and there is small kitchen beside the President’s dining room for his personal use. It’s one of Steve’s favorite rooms in the residence because it reminds him so much of the New Hampshire kitchen where he spent much of his time with his Aunt Hannah. She taught him how to cook, and cooking in this small kitchen—its size completely in contrast to the palatial rooms of the White House—has become a destressor for him of sorts.

Steve goes straight for the refrigerator and skims through its contents to find something suitable to eat. “We’ve got ingredients for a variety of sandwiches. What would you like?”

“Do you honestly think I’d let the President of the United States of America make my lunch for me? I’m not going to be that guy, Steve. Please step away from the fridge.”

Steve does step aside, amused and frankly, getting a little whiplash from the sudden change in Tony’s demeanor. But he adjusts almost immediately. “Alright then, you’re the chef for today.”

Tony happily takes the reigns. “What would _you_ like then? I was thinking of a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“Sounds good.” Steve begins to walk around the kitchen to prepare the cooking utensils needed.

Tony shoos him away. “Sit your presidential ass down while I make us lunch.” He carries all the ingredients needed for the meal and places them on the counter. “Contrary to popular belief, I actually do know how to make a meal for myself.”

“There’s a belief that says otherwise?”

Tony slaps butter onto the bread. “You know I come from an engineering background, right?” Steve nods. “I never really gave that up, so I still tinker and make a few things here and there in my workshop at home. When I first started working for the DNC, there were times when I got so caught up with engineering work that I’d forget to eat or sleep. Can’t do that anymore, though, being Speaker of the House takes up all of my time. Anyway, for some reason people started assuming that I didn’t eat because I didn’t know how to prepare food for myself.”

“And yet you’re making grilled cheese sandwiches for us.”

“Which is why popular belief is wrong,” Tony says with a smug smile, completely satisfied with himself, and continues to make their lunch.

Steve watches as Tony spreads butter onto the pan and grills their sandwiches. He really is an enigma to him. Not just because of his colorful personal history—from being an alcoholic almost all of his young life to being sober for thirteen years, from engineering to politics, from being the heir to throne of Stark Industries to being Speaker of the House—but mostly because Steve has never met anyone so _blinding._

Tony Stark is charismatic, engaging, brilliant, imperturbable, and yes (there’s no use denying it), attractive. Only an idiot wouldn’t understand why the Democrats continue to allow him take the reigns. But he’s also, as Steve has observed all these weeks working with him, an extremely private man, which is in complete contrast to his public persona. He keeps his cards close to his chest, veers away if anything becomes even remotely personal, and never hints at his true motivations. It seems as though you never truly get to know Tony Stark, never really get to know what makes him tick, unless he wants you to.

And Steve will admit to himself that he wants Tony to trust him enough—beyond the professional trust they’ve given one another—to let him in. Despite both of them being on the opposite sides of the aisle, this whole mess with the budget is proof enough that they can work really well together, and in effect do great things for this country and its people.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Tony says as he lays down two grilled cheese sandwiches in front of Steve.

Steve smiles, a little embarrassed. “Thank you.”

Tony takes the seat to Steve’s left. “Care to share?” he asks as he takes a bite from his sandwich.

Steve waves him off. “Just thinking about the budget.”

“Right.” Tony clearly does not believe him, but doesn’t seem to want to press on. “Have any idea when we might finish all this? I want to get everything up and running again. Frankly, this whole shutdown bit is getting old.”

“We made good progress this morning. I would think late tomorrow, or maybe early the day after that?”

Tony nods. “Sounds good.”

Steve smiles at him, and they finish the rest of their lunch in companionable silence.

Later that night, after long hours of arguing and compromising on the budget, Steve wishes he could have filled their lunch hour with more words.

//

 _Shutdown day 3_  

Jane is _exhausted._ She hasn’t had this much sex in a really long time. She and Thor have been at it for the past three days, stopping only to eat and sleep. Clearly, they’re making up for lost time, and boy have they lost so much time with the campaign and the Democrats’ newfound energy aimed at making life miserable for the Republicans. They do have sex on a regular basis—you simply have to if you’re married to Thor Odinson—but there have been times that she has missed the ‘go at it like rabbits’ kind of sex that they used to have before Thor rose up the political ladder.

Not that she’s complaining about her present life or anything. She and Thor have a wonderful marriage, clouded only by the fact that they can’t seem to get pregnant. Both of them have done all the tests and doctors could find nothing wrong with either of them, but it’s been almost ten years. That kind of frustration can get to a person. They’re trying not to let it get to them.

And they’re trying. For the past three days, they’ve been trying _really_ hard. In all ways, places, and positions possible. But it’s only a little bit before noon on the third day of the shutdown. There is still plenty of promise for the rest of the day.

“Wow,” Thor declares in between breaths after their nth orgasm. “I would give Tony an expensive bottle of wine as thanks, but seeing as that would be inappropriate, I think I would rather drink it in his honor.” 

Jane laughs breathily. “Just because he gave you a vacation…”

“A temporary respite, my dear,” he says as he moves on top of her for a kiss. “A welcome respite.”

Jane laughs in between kisses. “A very, very welcome respite…”

And then a phone rings. They both groan.

“I swear to God, Thor, if that’s anyone from your team, I’m going to kill them.”

“That ringing is not coming from my phone.”

Jane stops, surprised. The call is almost always never for her. “Mine, really?” She grabs the phone on her nightstand and looks at the screen. “It’s Darcy,” she grumbles, but answers the call anyway. “This better be good or I’m going to tell Clint to fire you.” 

“Why would you do that when you convinced him to give me the job in the first place? I’m on your front porch, and I’ve been ringing your doorbell for the last five minutes. Let me in.”

Jane sighs. “I’m busy, Darcy.”

“Oh, please. I know you’ve been having sex for three days straight. It’s time to take a break.”

Jane huffs, but gets up and drags Thor with her anyway.

Ten minutes later, they’re in the kitchen and Thor is making them coffee and some light snacks. He’s in his boxers and a loosely tied bathrobe, cheerfully humming while milling about in the kitchen. On the other hand, Jane is in one of her oversized Culver University shirts, making her annoyance about her bedroom activities being cut short absolutely clear. Darcy, fully dressed and decent, isn’t fazed at all by the couple, as if she’s walked in on them like this many times before. Which she actually has.

“What’s this about?” Jane asks, resigned to the fact that she actually has to entertain Darcy.

Darcy begins without hesitation. “So. Kate and I were walking along Georgetown U today and guess who we see on the street, muttering to himself? Selvig.”

Thor quickly turns his attention to the two ladies. “Erik’s back?”

“Yes. Came back last week from God knows where. He’s still a little nuts, but at least he had his pants on this time around.”

“Did you get to talk to him?” Jane asks.

“I did,” Darcy says proudly. “You’ll never believe what he told us.” She pauses and waits for any of them to ask, but they don’t. She clears her throat. “Loki’s here. In DC.”

Jane and Thor look at each other, confusion and disquiet clear on their faces. “Did he say why my brother is here?” Thor asks carefully.

Darcy shrugs. “Was hoping you could tell me." 

There's a pause. “Darling, you know there can only be one reason why Loki’s here,” Jane says to Thor softly, stroking his arm to comfort him.

Thor nods curtly. “This is pressing news. I have to speak to Tony and Natasha about this.”

“You can after his press conference,” Darcy tells him.

Jane turns to her. “What press conference?”

“The one he’s having with the President right now. Shutdown’s over.”

Jane reaches for the remote and turns on the small kitchen TV. True enough, Tony is standing beside President Rogers, proudly publicizing the budget and declaring the shutdown over. Both leaders look triumphant, and it’s clear that both parties can declare this one a win.

But with this news, perhaps the Democrats can’t celebrate just yet.

“The team must be told about Loki immediately.” Thor kisses the top of Jane’s head. “Excuse me while I call Natasha and try to assemble everyone for an urgent meeting later today.” He takes his leave of the kitchen.

“Is it really that bad that Thor’s brother is here? I mean, I know there’s no love lost between those two, but does he really have to call for back-up to deal with Loki?” Despite Darcy’s in-depth knowledge about the goings on in the Hill and her close relationship with Jane, neither she nor Thor have talked to Darcy about Loki in detail.  

Jane shakes her head. “You don’t understand. Loki hates DC because he thinks it’s Thor’s playground. Thor has power here, and Loki doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like coming in second, which is why he chooses to stay in Ohio where he’s chief judge of the north district.”

“So, why’s he here then?”

Before Jane can answer, Thor returns to the kitchen, his expression urgent. “Because someone could be stepping down from the Supreme Court.” He looks at the two women seriously, voice dark. “And he’s definitely going to want to sit on that empty chair.”

Jane sighs. There’s no better (or worse) reason to interrupt her sex life than Loki Odinson wanting to hijack a seat on the United States Supreme Court. Oh yes, the shutdown is definitely over.


	8. The Big Leagues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter officially begins the second arc! This is where shit hits the fan, folks, and I promise you more Steve/Tony action in the next couple of chapters (which I hope will come sooner rather than later... sighs, I have to do some major apologizing to all of you when this ends).
> 
> Thanks for sticking around, and please stay until the end of the ride. Hope you like this one, and please do leave a comment or two! They do help a lot in getting the writing along :)

_Washington DC_  
_October 2012_  
_Twelve days after the shutdown_

There is really no rest for the wicked.

The Democrats would have wanted more time to shove the successful end of the shutdown in the Republicans’ faces, but Loki’s return to the capital has given Tony and his team a renewed sense of urgency, and another battle to fight. If Natasha’s speculations about the surprising appearance of Thor’s estranged brother are to be believed—and if anyone values their life, they usually believe anything Natasha says—then this isn’t just about a simple case of filling an empty seat in the Supreme Court.

“If I know Loki, and I do, the seat is just a small part of a much bigger scheme. There are other elements at play here, greater ones. We have to be very careful about our next move, and keep in mind that my brother will always be one step ahead,” Thor tells them gravely, with Jane nodding in serious agreement beside him.

The usual suspects are once again in Tony’s house for a strategy session, the third time since the shutdown ended. They haven’t made any progress with figuring out what Loki is up to since their first gathering, so the frequent meetings are more of finding a reason to hang out and raid Tony’s liquor cabinet than anything else.

“Has anyone tried calling the guy?” Wade asks the group as he opens another can of beer, his fourth for the night. His leans back on the couch, completely at home. “He’s your brother, Thor. Perhaps showing a little bit of fraternal love will do the trick.”

Thor shakes his head and sighs dejectedly. “Loki and I are not on good terms. It will not be that simple.”

“Calling Loki would alert him that we know he’s up to something. We’ll lose any advantage we might have.” Natasha adds from the corner of the room. “And if anyone else knows about Loki being back in DC, no one’s talking about it.”

“It’s been more than a week. We haven’t had any new information about this, and no one we know or trust has seen him around the city,” Pepper interjects. “Are we certain Darcy’s intel is good?”

Jane looks over to Pepper. “Darcy may be crazy, but she’s not delusional. And as eccentric as Erik Selvig may be, he doesn’t joke about Loki. They have a history.”

“I do not doubt either Erik or Darcy,” Thor interjects, supporting his wife.” If they say Loki is here, then I am certain of it as well.” There is finality in his voice, and the others do not hesitate to believe the both of them.

“Look,” Tony interrupts. “I’m all for you guys coming to my house, eating my food, drinking my booze, and making fun of all my life choices, but we’ve been going around in circles and no one has brought anything new to the table. So either we make the first move, or we wait for him to do it.”

“You can’t even drink your own booze, Tony,” Janet points out.

“See how much I love you guys?” he responds, exasperated. Tony waits for an expected retort from Kate, but nothing comes. He looks around, surprised, and realizes that she isn’t present. “Where the hell is my assistant?”

Before anyone can answer that, Darcy barges in through the front door, Clint trailing behind her, exclaiming, “Victory is mine, victory is mine! Bring me the finest libations in all the land.”

Clint rolls his eyes, but does not stop Darcy’s roistering. The affection for his assistant is obvious, and it’s clear on his face that the both of them had come out victorious from whatever they were up to. He locks eyes with Natasha for a moment, and her eyes flicker with recognition. He says nothing, and looks away to regard the rest of the team gathered in the living room.

Thor stands up quickly, his expression urgent. “What news, Darcy?”

Darcy clears her throat, waits a few moments before speaking to build suspense—something she usually does that the others hate, but Clint can’t help but encourage her. It’s entertaining. “We know who’s stepping down from the Supreme Court.”

Everyone snaps at attention. Even Wade, who was already dozing off on the couch, is now up and alert. Thor looks like he’s ready to hit something with a hammer, and the only thing between him and total destruction is Jane’s steadying grip on his forearm.

“How?” Natasha asks, flummoxed. “I’ve been trying for days and haven’t heard so much as a whisper on the Hill.”

“Seems like you’ve been looking in the wrong place,” Darcy replies, and turns to Clint, as if passing the torch of explaining things to him.

Clint gives her a small nod and continues where his assistant left off. “I’ve been scheduling some small meetings at the Supreme Court. Nothing too important, just under the guise of being part of the Senate Judiciary Committee, checking up on cases that are important to our platform, that kind of stuff. I needed a low-key way—pun totally intended—of asking questions, but most importantly, I needed to get Darcy inside to sniff around the clerks and assistants without anyone raising suspicions.”

“Which I did brilliantly. You’re welcome,” Darcy adds with a curtsy.

“And you told none of us of this plan of yours?” Natasha is clearly a little pissed off about being left in the dark by her own people. Again.

Clint shrugs, unfazed. “Plausible deniability. People know Loki and I have a…colorful history—“

“He seems to have that with everyone,” Janet mutters under her breath.

“—so if I were to ask around, it wouldn’t seem like _we_ were asking around. If I were found out, I’d be the only casualty and the team can go on making mischief. I can just move strings behind the scenes, so to speak.”

“This is all well and good, my friend, and I thank you very much for your initiative, but if you have vital information to share, speak now,” Thor says, a little frustrated. It’s obvious that he just wants to know what the hell is going on with his brother.

Darcy eagerly looks at Clint, as if to ask for permission. He nods once, and Darcy turns to the team again. “It’s Alexander Pierce.”

They all look at one another in absolute shock. No one speaks. Even Natasha is dumbfounded. Darcy looks absolutely elated, as if she was expecting this reaction. Clint is just leaning against a wall, trying to hide a smirk that’s playing on his lips.

“Are. You. Serious.” It’s Janet after a minute or so of silence, her expression deadpan.

“Yup,” Darcy replies with a pop.

“But why?” Pepper asks, incredulous. “He’s got about ten to fifteen good years left in that seat!”

Tony tilts his head at Clint. “Impeachment?”

“Not quite,” Clint answers. “A corruption case is being built against him. They’re keeping it quiet at the moment, but that piece of news will come out soon and he wants to get ahead of the game.”

“Let me get this straight,” Wade says. “He’s going to retire to avoid an impeachment case? That makes it look like he’s guilty.”

“He probably is,” Tony tells them. “That’s the only reason why he’d step down before being served. He’s a formidable Supreme Court Justice and a highly regarded member of the legal profession. If the charges are hollow, he’ll stay and ride it out, but odds are the evidence against him is solid, if the charges are moving forward.” He turns to Clint again. “Who’s filing charges?”

“The DOJ,” Clint answers promptly.

Wade lets out a low whistle. “Damn. The big leagues.”

“We better call in our people,” Natasha instructs them.

Darcy is quick to respond. “We’re already on it. Kate’s at the DOJ right now, having a talk with America Chavez.”

Tony groans. “You left those two alone together? Do you not remember the last time they went around this town without a chaperone? Christ, I’m going to have to pay for the damages. Again,” he complains to Clint. And to Darcy: “You, stop ordering my assistant around.” Darcy only shrugs, unapologetic.

“But what does this have to do with Loki? Aside from wanting Pierce’s seat, of course,” Janet asks the room.

“Alexander Pierce and Loki are very good friends,” Thor says softly, his tone grave. “Pierce was Loki’s professor in law school, and he helped my brother rise through the ranks in the state supreme court back in Ohio.”

“Could he be implicated in Pierce’s case?” Pepper questions.

Natasha shakes her head. “Unlikely, if he’s here and wants the seat.”

“But real talk, though,” Wade says suddenly. “Do you honestly think this administration would nominate _Loki Odinson_ as Associate Justice of the Supreme Court? He’s too far on the right, even for Rogers.”

“He’s a young and brilliant jurist with an impeccable record. With a Republican senate, he’ll breeze through the committee hearings and camp out in that seat for decades,” Natasha tells them. “If I were Rogers, Loki is exactly who I’d nominate.”

Janet jumps in. “Do we know who’s taking the lead on the case yet?”

Clint shakes his head. “That’s what Kate’s trying to find out right now.”

“This better be worth the check I’m writing after she and Miss Chavez wreck another bar somewhere in Georgetown,” Tony grumbles.

“You better call Carol after you write that check, Stark,” Natasha commands him.

Tony replies with a salute. “I’ll give her boyfriend a call too, see if he has anything for us on the DOD side.”

“Is annoying Rhodey even necessary, Tony?” Pepper asks him, a warning more than a question, really.

“If you must know, Miss Potts, Pierce always takes the lead on DOD cases that reach the Supreme Court. He might have some information,” Tony retorts. “But also, yes, annoying Rhodey is necessary. Come to think of it, it’s been a while...”

Pepper rolls his eyes at him. “Sometimes, I honestly can’t believe you win elections.”

“Darling?” Jane calls out to her husband gently. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Thor looks at his wife with soft yet probing eyes, and Jane shakes her head. It’s as if the couple just had a whole conversation without even opening their mouths. It’s something that they do frequently, and was especially prominent during the campaign season. Many envy the relationship they have, the way they’re connected to one another without effort, how they lean on each other for support and comfort as a pillar of strength for one another. It’s not surprising how their love has served the party, and the country, well for the better part of a decade. It’s a fairytale straight out a storybook, and it’s one of the reasons why Natasha chose Thor to lead the ticket last elections.

“There are other hands at play here,” Thor tells them, shaking his head. “Loki may be the mastermind of all this, or most likely he is just merely a pawn. Nonetheless, I feel that this may be much bigger than what we are all anticipating.”

Natasha takes note of that and turns her attention back to Darcy and Clint. “Who gave you all this information?”

“I charmed one of Justice Lehnserr’s clerks, who told me that he’s heard subpoenas have been going around the Court. I mean, it’s the highest federal court of the country so I’m sure that’s not an unusual thing to happen, but he said that they were being given _to_ Supreme Court staff. Of course, these were all just rumors, so I texted Clint what I had heard immediately,” Darcy explains.

Clint continues. “I didn’t see the text until later—I was already in a meeting with Justice Maximoff. But it was unnecessary, since Wanda herself said that _she_ was being _requested_ , not subpoenaed, to appear before DOJ lawyers to testify regarding allegations that Justice Pierce is implicated in a number of fraud and bribery cases.”

“Oh my god,” Pepper utters. “What the hell is going on?”

“That is what we are going to find out,” Thor says, deep in thought. “As well as what my brother’s role is in all of this.”

“Is any of this public knowledge yet?” Tony asks.

“No. Apparently they’re keeping it under wraps at the moment. Wanda gave me information because it’s merely an investigation at this point, so she isn’t violating any confidentiality laws. They’re not sending out subpoenas for actual depositions. Basically, just invitations to talk,” Clint tells them. “Wanda willingly gave us a heads up because she knows Loki is here, and she’s worried.”

“Better send her a fruit basket, Stark,” Wade directs Tony. “And by fruit basket, I mean six bottles of 25-year-old Bowmores.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh please, Wilson, you know I’ve got better scotch than that.”

“Boys,” Natasha warns, clearly impatient. She turns back to the issue at hand. “There are still too many unknown variables, but this is a great start. Thank you Clint, Darcy.”

“It was our pleasure,” Darcy says with a curtsy. Clint only gives her a firm nod.

At that point, they call it a night. Thor leaves more somber than he arrived, and Jane as well. Natasha looks more determined than ever, which is a terrifying kind of Natasha to have. Pepper is still in disbelief, and Janet and Wade are some sort of mystified but unfazed, if not a little excited. Pepper, Darcy and Clint stay behind—Pepper waits for Happy to pick her up, Darcy waits for Kate, while Clint is here for the free drink. They hang around the bar area as Tony pours Clint one of his finest scotches—that bastard always wants the good stuff.

Tony hands Clint his drink. “Good to have you back, birdy. What you did back there was brilliant, by the way, if I do say so myself.”

Clint takes a swig of his scotch and turns to look at Tony, amused. “JARVIS, is there any way you recorded that? I want to make it my ringtone specifically for Tony.” And he laughs into his drink.

//

Kate rushes to the DOJ right after ending her call with Darcy, but America had already left the building. She thinks it a little awkward to contact America and ask where she is after not having seen or heard from her in more than six months, but this is important, and she can’t let the team down. So she sucks it up and calls her once-BFF, and they agree to meet at a place they used to frequent.

America’s beautiful wild hair makes it easy to spot her in the crowd of government workers trying to let off some steam in the middle of the workweek. There are a number of people trying to get her attention, which isn’t surprising at all—America is bright and commanding, the kind of person everyone wants to be friends with. Kate was easily drawn to her during their first year of university, and they’ve been friends ever since.

Well, things may have changed in the past six months, but yeah, friends. Kate won’t consider her anything less.

“Hey, Miss USA!” Kate calls out.

America turns around and breaks into a smile. “Well, look who it is. Does your boss know you’re here, Bishop? Or did you take out a loan to pay for tonight’s damages?”

Kate raises an eyebrow in amusement, remembering that night of revelry almost a year ago that did not end well—for Tony, at least. He had no choice but to pick up the check. “For the record, that was one time, and you were complicit to that mess.” She slides onto a stool beside America. “But seriously, I’m here on business and I don’t have a lot of time. I need to head to Tony’s as soon as I’m done here.”

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, darling,” America says playfully. “But we are both on government payroll, so I’d be lying if I said I don’t understand. Shoot.”

Kate doesn’t hesitate to go straight to the point. “So the DOJ has been investigating Justice Pierce.”

There’s a flicker of surprise in America’s eyes, clearly not expecting that information, but she recovers with a wicked smile. “I’ve got to hand it to you—you guys are good. We were very thorough and very careful. Still are.” She takes a swig of her beer. “Why do you need to know?”

“Some bad guys are coming into town, and we kind of want to stop them.”

America throws her head back and laughs. “Ah, so you’re the righteous ones. You do know you sound kind of pretentious when you say that?”

Kate shrugs. “What can I say? Tony’s rubbed off on me.”

“That’s a scary thought. You should check yourself before you wreck yourself, Bishop.”

“Hm,” Kate says with a tilt of her head. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing, actually.”

America rolls her eyes. “God, you’re being sucked deeper into the Stark machine. Is that why you decided to date Darcy instead of me?”

Kate gives her a warning look. “Let’s not go there, America.”

America raises her hands in defeat. “Fair enough. Was just trying to have some banter, Bishop, like the good old days.”

“These days don’t have to be the bad ones for us, you know,” Kate replies softly. “Is Darcy the reason why we haven’t hung out in the past six months?”

America takes another swig from her beer. “You already know the answer to that question, Kate.”

“I get it, America, and I’ve been giving you your space. But six months is a long time to leave someone alone without an explanation.”

America doesn’t even bother responding to that.

Kate sighs. “You know what? Fine. Let’s just talk business. I don’t have time for this shit anyway.”

“Go ahead, then.” America spreads her arms wide, as if to challenge her.

Kate gives her a steely look, and begins to speak in a more professional tone. “I can understand if you don’t want to tell me the specifics of what the DOJ is up to, but it’s important that we know who’s in charge of the indictment. We want to help.”

“Am I supposed to believe that you’re doing this for the good of the nation?”

“We’re not the bad guys here, America.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re the good ones, either.”

“And you’re telling me you are?”

America smirks, but doesn’t have a retort for that one.

Kate sighs and starts to get up, defeated. “Loki Odinson is in town. I suggest you watch out for him.” She will have to make up some explanation as to why she’s coming back to the team empty-handed, but that doesn’t mean she can’t help her friend out. They really do want to help, after all.

“It was really nice seeing you, America,” Kate admits as she puts on her scarf and turns around to leave. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

America doesn’t look back as Kate exits the bar.

It’s not until Kate is halfway home when she receives a text message.

_Jessica Drew is on top of the Pierce case._

Kate smiles. America always pulls through in the end.

Her phone beeps again just as she’s about to put it back in her pocket.

_And I’ve missed you too._

//

“Are we good, JARVIS?” Tony asks his AI once everyone had left. No bars were wrecked tonight, thank god, although he suspects something must have happened between Kate and America, judging from his assistant’s dour entrance earlier. He’ll have to deal with that later.

“Yes, sir,” his trusty AI replies. “Although Miss Potts remains in the kitchen, sorting out the dirty dishes.”

He chuckles to himself. That’s not an unusual thing to happen after their little soirees. 

He heads to the kitchen and indeed finds Pepper there, her back facing him, rinsing dirty plates and stacking them inside the dishwasher. He leans on the doorway and smiles to himself. For a moment he thinks they’ve gone back a year and a half in time, when he and Pepper were still happy, together in their own version of domesticity. Not that he wants to get back together, because if he were to be honest with himself, he really doesn’t. But sometimes, just sometimes, being Tony Stark is a little too lonely for his taste.

And Jesus fucking Christ is she beautiful.

He walks towards her, careful not to disturb the peace her presence is commanding in the room, because when was the last time there was true, genuine peace in this house? Not since she left, and probably never again. He wraps his arms around her waist, holds her tight. There is no indication of surprise from her end, as if she expected Tony to come to her, and that makes him a little warm inside. He rests his chin on her left shoulder and takes a deep breath, inhaling that wonderful strawberry-vanilla scent of her hair.

“Hi,” he greets in an almost whisper.

She chuckles softly. “Hey.”

“I thought you left already.”

“If I know you, which I do, you’d just leave these dirty dishes strewn around your kitchen for a week until JARVIS nags you to clean them up,” she tells him.

Tony smiles against her hair. “And you thought you’d do my AI a favor by washing the dishes?”

Pepper shrugs. “Force of habit, I suppose.”

She finishes rinsing the last plate and turns off the faucet. Tony lets go and waits until she’s done setting up the dishwasher, turns it on, and dries her hands. When she turns to face him, there’s an adoring smile on her face, and Tony has the urge to kiss her. It takes mammoth self-control not to give in to that temptation.

“This is going to be a bloodbath, Tony. This is bigger than anything we’ve ever dealt with,” she tells him. “Are you ready for this?”

“And here I thought you knew me,” he murmurs, placing his hands on her hips and draws her closer, their foreheads touching.

“Tony…” Pepper sighs, and pushes him away. She knows where this is going. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“I know,” he tells her honestly. There is a hint of sadness in his voice. Whatever he and Pepper had… Those were some really good times. He lets out a soft moan. “Why can’t I quit you, Pepper Potts?”

She laughs and it sends a chill down his spine. He has always loved Pepper’s laugh. “I don’t think we’ll ever be able to quit each other, Tony.” She leans against the kitchen counter, crosses her arms. “But that doesn’t mean that this...whatever we had, will work again.”

“I know, Pep.” He takes a step back, more hurt than he will dare admit. “Believe me, I know.”

She reaches out in an effort to console him. “We tried, Tony. We tried for a long time and for the most part, it was fantastic. But when it was bad, we were both absolutely miserable, and our worse days nearly drove our decades-long friendship over the edge. It affected the good work we were doing. We were bound to crash and burn. That is not something I want to go through again.” She pauses, looks away for a moment, thinking. “And I’m in love with Happy.”

He smiles sadly. “For once, someone actually deserves you, Pepper Potts.”

Pepper takes his hands into hers. “Hey, look at me,” she requests gently. “We’re great friends and an even greater team.”

“We just don’t work as a couple,” Tony concedes. And he knows that, really. He sighs and rubs a thumb along the back of her hand—an affectionate gesture Tony used to do when they were still together. “I just miss you sometimes.”

She hugs him tightly. “I love you, Tony. And believe me when I say that that won’t ever change.” She strokes the back of his neck. “I miss you sometimes, too.”

She pulls away, but not before giving him a tender kiss on the cheek. They gaze at each other for a while, with Tony trying to find the right words to say— _I love you, stay, I want you, don’t leave me, everybody leaves me, I love you—_ but he only smiles and kisses her forehead. “This is going to be a mess, Pep. We have to be ready for what’s coming,” he tells her, trying desperately to change the subject. Tony has gone from Too Much Tension to My Stunted EQ Can’t Handle This Anymore.

Pepper’s face lights up. “Is it weird that I’m really excited?” Tony relaxes. Emotional crisis averted for now.

“Baby, you should have really taken a better look at Natasha. I could’ve sworn she had her fangs out when Darcy started talking about subpoenas.”

They chat for a few more minutes about the war ahead, the dishwasher whirring behind them. Pepper’s phone dings—it’s Happy, and he’s already pulling up in front of Tony’s house—and takes her leave. Tony walks with her to the front door and waves at Happy when he rolls down the window to give him a salute. She opens the door, but not before she takes a long good look at him. “You’re an amazing man, Tony Stark. I just wish you would let others see it,” she tells him in a thoughtful tone.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Now where’s the fun in that?” and they say their goodbyes.

//

Tony is loneliest at night, but he does not admit that out loud. He tells himself that he is alone, but not actually lonely. He tells himself that living the solitary life is the best for him and his work. He tells himself that this is how things should be—that he chose this life, and this life has consequences, that sacrifices have to be made. He tells himself that it’s better this way. He tells himself that it will all be worth it in the end.

Tony is loneliest at night, but he goes on as if he doesn’t feel like everyone is well and truly happy, and leaving him behind.

“Everything on sleep mode, JARVIS,” Tony instructs the other entity in the house as he gets ready for bed, tapping his toothbrush on the edge of the sink so the excess water can drip down.

“Right away, sir.” JARVIS’ voice echoes throughout the bathroom.

He slips into his bed and is not surprised that he can’t sleep. Melancholy does that to him sometimes, so tries to get his mind whirring by sketching new designs and trying out new calculations on his tablet, as well as outlining a strategy for dealing with Loki and Pierce.

Those keep his mind occupied for the better part of half an hour, but then the loneliness sets in again and he throws his tablet across his bed in frustration, burying his face in his hands. He doesn’t want to go down to his workshop tonight—the past couple of weeks has left him extremely exhausted, and he needs at least a week of good nights’ rest to recuperate from the drama of the shutdown. He’s just getting old, really, and he’s far from being a superhero. He has a limit too.

He just needs something to lull him to sleep.

Without thinking, he grabs his phone, types in “ _Are you still awake?”_ and hits send. It’s a few seconds later when he hears a ring that he realizes who he had sent the message to. He’s surprised the reply is a late night call instead of a simple text message.

“Tony?”

“Steve.” Tony can’t believe how relieved he is to hear Steve’s voice on a night like this.

“Is everything alright?”

“Been a long day. Thought we might share the same sentiment, seeing as you’re the leader of the free world and all.”

Steve laughs heartily. “It’s not a walk in the park, I can say that much.”

Tony smiles to himself. “Anything interesting to share to the class?”

“Well, there was something about aliens in the security briefing this morning…” Steve pauses, and Tony doesn’t know how to respond. “I’m kidding.”

Tony chuckles. “Of course you are. You’d be panicking if aliens had landed. They would kick the shit out of us because frankly, the human race is woefully unequipped to deal with advanced space technology.”

“I’m…not going to argue with that.”

“You better not, because you know you’ve been leaving NASA out to dry.”

“May I remind you that you were the one who decided we could cut their budget?”

“Touché, Mr. President. Touché.”

When their laughter dies down, the line goes quiet for a few moments.

“Hey, Tony.” There’s a certain hesitation in Steve’s voice. “You there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here,” Tony replies, almost breathless.

“I just…I wanted to thank you for helping out with the budget. I don’t think I’d have gotten out of that one alive without you.”

Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that. “You’re welcome, Steve,” is all he can come up with. “But none of this would have happened if it weren’t for you.”

He never really expected their…reluctant partnership to turn out so well. He never even expected to like Steve Rogers as both a person and the President of the United States, but shit happens. He can’t help but think highly of the man now, can’t help but want his respect and be in his good graces.

“Well, let’s just say things happened the way they were supposed to happen.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you believed in fate, Steve.”

“Well, Tony, there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

Tony tilts his head, thoughtful. This is an opening, he thinks, an opening that he can decide to take or not. Where the opening goes, he doesn’t know just yet. He takes a deep breath.

Well, he’s never backed down from a hard game, so what the hell, right? He decides to take a leap of faith.

“I’d like to change that,” he says finally.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and Tony can feel him smiling at the other end of the line. “I’d like to change that too.”

Those words make Tony feel very warm inside, the same warmth that he felt with Pepper in the kitchen earlier in the evening. That shocks and confuses him—he can’t entertain those types of feelings right now, especially not with Steve. Things have to be strictly platonic for him to function.

He tries to make the situation lighter, more work related. “And in the spirit of friendship, listen,” Tony begins, his tone shifting to a more professional one. “Something’s brewing. We’re trying to figure out exactly what it is, but until then, keep your eyes and ears open for anything out of the ordinary.”

“Okay. I trust you. Thank you, Tony.”

“You’re always welcome, Steve.”

When they hang up and Tony is pacified enough to finally be able to sleep, he tucks away the earlier downcast mood brought about by his past relationship with Pepper in a filing cabinet in his mind, along with the moroseness of being and ending up alone. He replaces all this gloom with the electricity of the looming battle, and the thrill of a new friendship.

 _Friendship_ , he keeps telling himself. _We’re just friends._

But he doesn’t blame himself when he dreams of circuits and currents with a dash of blonde hair and clear, azure eyes.


	9. With Friends Like These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shy waving*
> 
> I've had this chapter lying around for months, begging to be finished. To say that the results of the US elections have devastated me is an understatement of epic proportions. So I decided to transform my despair into writing fodder. Finally, after more than a year, here's another chapter. I hope the next one doesn't take as long.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented and gave kudos. Really, your support helps a lot in pushing me to write, and I really appreciate it.

_Washington DC_  
_October 2012_

Two days ago, Tony had told him to keep his eyes and ears open for anything unusual happening on his side of the capital. He had believed the Speaker of the House, of course—after everything they’d been through with the shutdown, how could he not? There was no reason not to continue trusting the man. So he took note of Tony’s advice, but he didn’t think he’d actually need it so soon, because after having his first—and only—caffeine intake of the day, his chief of staff came into the Oval Office with the most unusual and shocking of news.

“Justice Pierce is retiring,” Bruce announces to the room.

Steve blinks, not registering what Bruce had just said. “Justice Pierce…of the Supreme Court?”

“Yes sir,” Bruce replies tersely.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Alexander…Pierce?”

“The one and only, Mr. President,” Phil confirms from the couches.

“Is he—” Steve, clearly taken aback and still shocked by this new piece of information, grasps for some sort of understanding. “—sick? Dying?”

Bruce adjusts his eyeglasses and reads from the piece of paper he’d been holding since he entered the Oval Office. “ _…after more than 40 years of practicing law and nearly 26 years of serving this most honorable Court to the best of my abilities, I believe it is now time to put down my gavel and spend my remaining years in the loving company of my family and friends…”_ He hands Steve the letter and shrugs. “It looks like he just decided to up and retire.”

Steve reads the letter carefully, word per word so as not to misunderstand anything. “I honestly can’t believe this,” he says, incredulous. “He’s what, 68? He’s too young to retire, isn’t he?”

“Geoffrey Wilder was Chief Justice until he died at ninety-five, and Irani Rael literally waited for death to come knocking at her door before handing in her notice, so to speak,” Phil replies. “So yes, under normal circumstances, Justice Pierce would be too young to retire.”

“So these are not normal circumstances then—out of the ordinary,” Steve murmurs while rereading the letter.

Bruce shakes his head. “Most definitely, Sir.”

“Any ideas as to why he’s retiring so early?”

“We can find out,” Phil suggests.

Steve takes a seat and a deep breath, his thoughts jumbled. “ _…out of the ordinary…_ ” he says again, but only to himself, remembering what Tony had said to him just a few nights ago. Was this what Tony meant when he said that something was brewing? Had he known that Pierce was going to retire when they talked two days ago? If he did, then why hadn’t he mentioned anything?

 _But it’s unlikely,_ he thinks, _that Tony would throw away the trust and camaraderie that you have built together after what you have accomplished. He must have a reason if he kept this from you._

He doesn’t know if he’s right, or if he’s once again forcing himself to see the good in Tony. Steve is hoping it’s the former, because no matter what public perception is, Tony is truly a good person. That much he knows, at least.

It’s Phil that takes him back into the office. “Mr. President?”

Steve coughs. “I’m sorry, I was—anyway.” Steve stands up, walks in front of the desk, and leans against it, willing his mind to get back on track. “I don’t want to deny Pierce of his right to retire when he chooses, but I do want to speak with him about this. Today, if possible.”

Bruce nods. “I’ll have Sharon contact his office immediately.”

“Does the press know about this?”

“Not yet,” Phil answers. “It looks like Pierce wants to keep this quiet for as long as they can.”

“Good. Then I want to have the meeting in his chambers at the Supreme Court, as a sign of respect. Tell Secret Service that I don’t want any attention drawn to my convoy.”

“Understood, Mr. President. If that’s all, I suggest we move on with the security briefing. The Joint Chiefs are already waiting outside,” Bruce proposes.

Steve gives him a small nod in agreement. “Alright then, let’s get this show on the road.”

For his sanity, he tries, for the rest of the day, not to think of Tony and what might be going on inside the Speaker of the House’s head.

//

When Tony arrives at the bistro, Rhodey and Carol are already seated, sipping on their drinks and chatting away. He smiles to himself—he hasn’t seen his best friend and his girlfriend for about a month now, but it’s good to see them together, happy and relaxed. The years haven’t been easy for either him or Rhodey, but it’s good to know that at least one of them gets that coveted happy ending. If anyone deserves it, it’s Rhodey.

“Pooh bear,” he greets his best friend.

Rhodey stands up and gives him a big hug. “Hey, Tones. Really good to see you, man.”

Carol gives him a wide smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, Tony. It’s been a while.”

They take their seats and Tony orders his usual. He’s here with the other Democrats often enough, and the staff know him pretty well. They also know how to be discreet, which is why Tony chose this particular bistro to meet with Carol and Rhodey.

They catch up first—Carol and Rhodey updating Tony about what they’ve been up to, and Tony doing the same with all the theatrics that only he can deliver. It’s fun, light, and normal, and when their food arrives, Tony isn’t sure if he’s ready to talk business just yet. God knows that they don’t have much of these moments to go around.

Unfortunately, this town has never been for the sunny and fluffy. Reality always comes around to bite you in the ass, and that’s something that Tony has long accepted. It’s better, therefore, to get ahead than to be left behind even if it leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

“As much as I enjoy catching up,” Tony begins, “I have to admit that this breakfast isn’t entirely a date between friends.”

Carol takes a sip from her juice. “We’re not under any illusion that you called _only because_ you missed us, Tony,” she tells him coolly. It’s not an admonition, but more of an observation.

“So,” Rhodey proceeds, wiping his fingertips with a napkin. “What’s up?”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” Tony says as he leans on the backrest of his chair. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on with Alexander Pierce?”

Carol and Rhodey glance at each other uncomfortably. Tony sees it but doesn’t mention it, keeping his gaze firm and unyielding. Carol doesn’t budge for a second, a vision of calm, cool and collected in the face of Tony’s wordless insistence.

Rhodey, however, is more malleable to Tony’s goading—a product of their decades of friendship. “I’m sure you’re aware of confidentiality rules, Tony,” he warns his best friend, albeit gently.

Tony smiles mischievously. “You know me, I like to live on the wild side.” Then his tone shifts, his face serious. “I’m not asking for kicks. I know we’re walking on some really dangerous ground here legally, but you have to give me something—anything—I can work with.”

Carol sighs, takes out a pen from her bag and grabs a paper napkin from the center of the table. “You’re a menace, Tony Stark.” She slides the napkin towards him surreptitiously. “Don’t leave that lying around.”

Tony takes the napkin and puts it inside his jacket pocket for safekeeping. “I appreciate this, Carol. I really do.”

“We’re serious about this, Tones. You be careful moving forward with this,” Rhodey cautions him.

Tony nods curtly. He doesn’t say anything, but understands the seriousness of the situation even if he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on just yet.

“Oh,” Carol says suddenly, taking a sip from her drink. “Tell Matt Murdock I said hi, won’t you?” She smiles teasingly.

Tony tilts his head, not quite understanding what Carol means, but goes along with it anyway. He’s certain the namedrop will come in handy sooner rather than later. He returns the smile. “Sure thing, Madam Attorney General.”

//

After steering the conversation back on pretty, witty, and gay terms, the breakfast ends some half an hour later. Their cheerful parting, however, doesn’t stop Tony from hurrying back to the Capitol. His whole staff is gearing up for another fight with the Republicans—this time on gun control, which he asked Wade to take the lead on—so the office is buzzing with activity. No one notices him come in, which is exactly how he likes it, except for Kate, of course, who follows him all the way into the inner office.

“I know that face,” she tells him with a frown. “That face means shit went down with Carol and Rhodey. What happened?”

“Nothing,” he says as he takes his seat behind the desk and sighs. “They wouldn’t tell me anything, which I expected, to be honest.”

“But that only means that the investigation is serious if Carol isn’t willing to talk. And if Rhodey’s not talking either, then the DOD must be involved, or else I’m straight as a ruler.”

Tony looks up at her and smiles wearily. “There’s a reason why I keep you around, Bishop.”

Kate sits on his desk, right in front of Tony. “But they must have given you _something,”_ she says, exasperated. “Did they tell you anything about Loki, at least?”

“They gave me a name,” he tells her as he reaches in to his jacket pocket and hands her the napkin that Carol had given him.

Kate takes a good look at it.

_Richard Parker_

“Burn it,” he orders her.

Kate looks at Tony, his face somber as he hands her a lighter. She walks over to the right end of the room, lights the end of the napkin and throws it into the fireplace. “What’s next, boss?” She asks as she walks back to the desk.

“We need a way to talk to Richard Parker without raising any alarms.”

“Any idea who he is?”

Tony takes his tablet out of his bag and hands it to Kate. “He’s a bioengineer who worked for Oscorp for decades before retiring two years ago. He’s now a professor at Columbia University.”

Kate taps a few buttons and sends the information open on Tony’s tablet to hers before she hands it back to him. “We’re not short on friends in Columbia, or the general New York area for that matter, if you need a go-between.”

That’s when it hits him. He bows his head and laughs under his breath. “Oh Carol, you fucking genius.” Tony turns to Kate. “I need you to get me Matt Murdock on the phone right away, then tell our friend in Hoover to expect a call from me ASAP. Have Darcy pull Clint out of whoever he’s having lunch with today.”

“On it, boss,” she tells him as he hurries to make the calls for him.

“Oh and Kate?” he stops her before she heads out of his office. “We’re running a tight ship for now. I need a better visualization of the big picture before I present this to the rest of the team.”

She gives him a small smile. “Understood.”

When his phone rings, Tony can’t help but feel the exhilaration of a new, and perhaps dangerous inquest. The dread is there too, as the stakes look to be far too high to make even the slightest of mistakes.

A familiar drawl greets him at the other end of the line. “Well, Stark, this is a surprise.”

Tony laughs. “We both know very well that it’s not, Murdock.”

“Do we, now?”

“I come bearing gifts from a certain Attorney General.”

“Huh,” Matt responds with a thoughtful tone.

Tony leans his seat back, crossing his legs on the top of his desk. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

“Perhaps.” He pauses. “Foggy is in DC this week. You might even get a chance to see him very soon.”

Tony breaks into a smile. “You never cease to amaze me with your powers, Murdock.”

“You’re welcome, Stark. Send my regards to my partner.” And he hangs up.

Before Tony opens his mouth to call out for his assistant, Kate comes in, Foggy Nelson in tow. “This isn’t fun sometimes, you know. I don’t like it when people come into my office and insist that they’re on the schedule when I know they’re not,” she tells her boss, exasperated.

Tony shrugs. “Well, he’s definitely on the schedule now.”

Kate throws her hands in the air, giving up. “It’s your show now.” And leaves the office.

Tony and Foggy shake hands. “So,” the Speaker preludes. “Care to share to the class what monsters have been hiding under the floorboards?”

//

The meeting with Justice Pierce was, to put it mildly, unsettling. They had discussed his early retirement, but Pierce had out-talked him in every turn, preventing Steve from getting the real story out of the associate justice. Or at least what Steve _thinks_ might be the real story. According to Bruce, everything checks out—Pierce’s three-year-old granddaughter having been diagnosed with autism and his widowed daughter needing help to raise her. And yet, there is a nagging feeling in his gut that says _he’s lying._

Steve takes a deep breath, steadying himself. It’s been a tough day, and he was barely at the end of it.

“The press will be notified of Pierce’s early retirement tomorrow,” Bruce says as he strides in the Oval office.

“Has the Senate Judiciary Committee been notified?”

“Only when you formally accept his resignation, which is being drafted right now and will be ready for your signature within the day. We will send both letters to the Senate as soon as you sign.”

“Thank you, Bruce,” Steve replies, clearly absentminded.

The Chief of Staff tilts his head thoughtfully. “You seem distracted, sir.”

Steve looks up at him and gives him a small, embarrassed smile. “It was a strange meeting. I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it.”

“We can put some feelers out, if it will ease your discomfort,” Bruce offers.

Steve shakes his head. “No, no. Let’s leave it for now. If something is amiss I’m sure it will turn up.” He sighs. “What’s your take on this?”

Bruce takes a seat in front of the President. “I personally don’t think it’s the whole story but I have no reason to believe that there is anything malicious about it.” He pauses to try to read the President’s face. “What exactly is bothering you about it, sir?”

“Honestly?” A beat. “I don’t know,” Steve admits.

“Should we start compiling names for his replacement, then?” Bruce asks cautiously.

Steve nods. “That would be the prudent course of action. And I’ll need to meet with the chair of the Senate Judiciary Committee once they are informed.”

“An invitation to the White House will accompany the documents to be sent to Senator Logan. Understood, sir.”

“Thank you, Bruce.”

“My pleasure, Mr. President.” And the Chief of Staff exits the Oval Office.

It takes Steve about twenty minutes of disquieted mulling before he picks up his phone to call the one person who may have some answers.

“Did you know that Alexander Pierce was retiring?” he asks Tony the moment the Speaker takes the call.

“Well, hello to you too,” Tony responds cheekily.

“Tony. Did you know?”

Tony is silent at the other end, which is all the answer Steve needs.

“I thought we trusted each other, Tony,” Steve says softly, if not a little dangerously."

“We do, Steve. We do,” Tony sputters out. “Please believe me when I say that this isn’t about me keeping things from you.”

“What, are you going to tell me that you didn’t know two days ago when you told me to watch out for anything unusual?” Steve asks indignantly.

Once again, there is silence from Tony’s end.

“Goddamit Tony!”

“Hear me out Steve, please.” Tony’s tone is pleading, almost begging. “I didn’t have the full picture yet. I _don’t_ have the full picture yet. I didn’t want to give you unconfirmed intel and I needed more time to figure out what was going on. I’m not purposely keeping anything from you to blindside you or attack you. Please, Steve.”

Steve rubs his temples, his head suddenly aching. “I’m not happy about this, Tony. We’re going to discuss this, and we’re not doing it over the phone.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to ask my staff to schedule a meeting with you _tomorrow_. I am not letting this slide until you tell me everything you know about Pierce’s resignation.”

“Steve, please—“

“That’s an order from your President, Mr. Speaker.”

//

Tony is fucked.

Kate received the White House summons precisely three minutes after Steve had gone full POTUS and hung up on him, giving Tony an express command that he cannot possibly disobey. His assistant knew exactly how fucked he was—she strolled into his office and told him in not so many words that he was well and truly fucked and had only one way to get out of the situation he had put himself in.

He would need to call Natasha.

Which clearly Tony doesn’t want to do. He knows in his gut that Natasha knows about his arrangement with Steve—but then, there is a difference between Natasha knowing because Natasha is terrifying that way, and Natasha knowing because you are left with no other choice than to admit to Natasha that thing that she already knows. And everyone in the Democratic Party knows that if you at all value your life, then the former is much, much preferable than the latter.

But what do you do when you’re put in between a rock and a hard place? _Blow the place up_ would be a normal Tony response to that particular predicament, but these are extenuating circumstances with what could possibly be high stakes, even if it’s not entirely clear what those are just yet. He can’t afford to go rogue.

Kate is in front of him, irritated and impatient, tapping her foot and waiting for answer. “Well, Tony?”

Tony sighs, resigned to his fate. “Confirm the meeting with the President tomorrow, and tell Natasha I’m on my way to her office.”

“Are you going to tell her about what you found out from your meetings with Foggy and Clint this morning?” she asks testily.

“Yes, Kate,” Tony says, exasperated. “I’m going to tell her everything, even that I went behind her back to make an arrangement with a Republican.”

“Well, in that case, may God bless your soul,” she says seriously, and saunters out of the room, leaving Tony to dwell in his misery.

He is a dead man walking, dragging his feet to the DNC headquarters on South Capitol. Even the DNC staffers know that he’s in deep shit with their boss—a kid from the communications team even comes up to him to offer him condolences. Natasha makes him wait a good ten minutes outside her office, presumably to make Tony sweat, give him time to think about what he’s done and regret all the life choices that he has ever made—a classic Natasha move, if there ever was one. He almost turns back when Natasha calls him in.

“I see you’ve come to beg for your life,” Natasha says without inflection. She doesn’t look at him either, choosing to keep writing on the documents on her table rather than pay her victim any mind.

“I’m so sorry about all this, Tash.”

“You sure do know how to dig your own grave, Tony Stark.” She doesn’t look up at him once, her tone flat and neutral.

“Natasha, please.”

She stops writing and carefully puts down her pen. Slowly, she turns to look Tony, a quiet, furious anger evident on her face. “I am not happy with you.”

Tony swallows. “I know that.”

“I am very close to throwing my trust in you out the window.”

“I know that too. And I’m sorry, I truly am.”

“Dammit, Tony,” Natasha complains, clearly irate.

Tony attempts to smile. “You know, that’s the same thing the President told me today.”

She gives him a steely look. “Don’t test me.” Tony raises his arms in surrender. “You’re not forgiven, you know that right?” she clarifies for him.

Tony nods. “Yes.”

She sighs, an expression that means he has let Tony off the hook for the time being. “Explain everything to me, from the beginning of this shit show until you walked into that door today. Leave nothing out or else I will change my mind about commuting your sentence, Anthony Stark.”

Tony obeys, and proceeds to recount in excruciating detail the backroom events that have happened in the last few months, from the first call that he received from Steve, to the orchestrated government shutdown, to the bizarre and successive emergence of information that occurred today. Natasha is stoic during the whole narration, which can only mean that she is picking apart everything that Tony is saying.

The Speaker of the House is generous in his storytelling, laying it out bare for the DNC National Chair, which he doesn’t do very often. More than acquiescence to Natasha’s conditions, it is another way of saying _please help me, I do not want to fuck this up._ She listens, knowing full well the message that Tony is trying to get across.

“Has Barton given a report back from his talk at our friend in Hoover?” Natasha asks.

Tony takes a look at his watch. “I’m expecting one within the hour.”

“I suspect she wasn’t happy to be called in."

“When is Jessica Jones ever happy to be called in?” he says with a snigger. “Look, Natasha—“

She cuts him off. “You’re worried about your meeting with the President tomorrow.”

“Yes. Alexander Pierce, Loki Odinson, Richard Parker, Foggy’s Ohio case—these are all somehow connected, and perhaps even bigger than we could ever imagine. After today, I have more pieces of the puzzle, sure, but the more pieces I get, the more questions I have.” Tony rubs his temple in frustration. “I’m not ready to give all this information to the President, but I can’t go to him empty-handed either.”

“The only way for Rogers to know about Pierce retiring is if the Oval Office already received his letter of retirement,” she adds thoughtfully. “Which would mean that the two would have already met to discuss Pierce’s reasons, and also perhaps floating names for his successor.”

Tony nods in agreement. “And I’m sure the President wouldn’t have heard anything about the case the DOJ is building against Pierce. I don’t want to blindside Carol and Jessica Drew by giving them away.”

“And saying nothing is not an option?” Natasha asks again.

Tony shakes his head. “No.”

She tilts her head, contemplating the man in front of her. “You really value this relationship you have with Steve Rogers, huh?”

“Natasha—“

She holds her hand up. “I’m not judging, Tony, just asking.”

It takes Tony a few moments before he musters up the courage and the words to finally answer: “Yes, I do.”

Natasha is not at all surprised. “Well, then, it seems like we have our work cut out for us, Mr. Speaker.”

Six hours, nine boxes of Chinese take-out and some cans of beer later, Tony finally comes out of that office with a strategy and, even more importantly, Natasha Romanoff’s seal of approval.

//

 _Stanford University_  
_Palo Alto, California_  
_October 1989_

A lanky Political Science student knocks on Professor Scott Lang’s door, eager to have a piece of the popular electronic engineer’s time. Under normal circumstances, it would be strange to have a student with a non-engineering major spend precious hours in this department, but this was no ordinary student—this was engineering prodigy Tony Stark, who had left Cambridge, Massachusetts in a huff to join the hippies of Palo Alto, California. He threw away the MIT engineering degree in exchange for something wildly different, effectively killing Howard Stark's legacy and shocking the burgeoning tech industry to its very core.

Well, it wasn’t as if Tony Stark gave a flying fuck, that much Scott knows.

The door swings open and Tony barges in, smoothly evading a bodily collision with the professor. “A good morning to you,” Scott greets him.

“Have you seen this?” Tony asks him with a hint of alarm in his voice.

Scott receives the papers that Tony is ardently shoving into his face. He scans the text, his eyes growing big as they reach the end of the first page. “Where did you get this?”

Tony flops on the couch, stretches, and crosses his legs on the coffee table. “Sent by a former professor in MIT who is part of the first working group.”

“I can’t believe this,” Scott murmurs as he continues reading. “The IPCC isn’t slated to release the whole report until—“

“Next year. This is just a draft of the scientific assessment. I’ve asked him to send me the impact assessment as soon as he gets his hands on a copy.”

“Wow,” Scott says, still in disbelief. “I mean, we’ve known about this for a while, but to have it laid out on paper like this…”

“Climate change: the greatest challenge humankind will face in the next one hundred years,” Tony declares. “And this is why my arc reactor design is so important.”

“Tony, your arc reactor design is technologically impossible,” Scott reminds him.

The student shrugs. “For now, maybe. But it’s not _theoretically_ impossible, which still makes it a viable energy alternative.”

Scott smiles, admiring Tony’s staunch determination. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Stark.”

Tony returns the smile. “How’s the wedding planning coming along?"

Scott groans. “I never knew how much strategizing and compromise go into picking flowers. Promise me that if you’ll ever get married, you won’t do it like this. Elope like sensible people do.”

“Marriage,” Tony says with a chuckle. “Another dying institution.”

Scott rolls up the documents in his hand and smacks Tony’s right arm. “Hey, what did I tell you about negativity? No cynical thoughts in this room, young man.”

Tony shrugs. “It’s not being cynical so much as being realistic."

“Come on, you honestly believe you won’t find a partner you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with? You’re underestimating your capacity to love, Tony,” Scott tells him kindly. “I’ve seen you with your friends around campus, and in the short amount of time you’ve been here, not to mention the huge paradigm shift you’ve had to undergo, you’ve managed to create a family here. You bring people together, Tony. No amount of cynicism, or even realism, can change that.”

Tony looks up at Scott, his face unreadable but soft. The professor sees what could have been gratitude, but it’s gone in an instant.

“Didn’t peg you for a softie, Lang,” Tony responds with a smirk.

Scott tugs on his blazers and holds his head up high in mock pride. “Well, I’m a family man now,” he says with a chuckle.

“As long as family men can still talk about scientific theories, I have no problems with that.”

“Of course they can. What have you got for me?”

He grabs a pen and paper from the coffee table and proceeds to sketch designs for Scott, explaining to him the next Tony Stark flight of fancy.

//

 _Washington DC_  
_October 2012_

Tony stands behind the main workbench in his basement. For all the mess and disarray around his workshop, this particular table is organized to an immaculate degree. In the center stands only one piece of work, unfinished and, for the past year or so, untouched.

If there is one thing that haunts Tony about his former life, it’s this—a pipedream that he had chased secretly for years, even well into his booming political career. He would do research and tinker even in his busiest and most stressful of times, something which he can’t afford to do anymore now that he’s Speaker of the House.

On nights like these, he thinks about what it might feel like to drop everything, resign, and lose himself in his machines. It should alarm him how frequently these thoughts have permeated into his brain, sometimes freezing him into inaction for a good amount of time. It’s unhealthy and terrible for his job, he knows that. But sometimes—just sometimes—he can’t help but feel the heavy weight on his shoulders.

Who knew that he would become the most powerful Democrat in the country? Not him, surely, not all those years ago when he gave his dad’s legacy the middle finger. He went to Stanford as a big, gigantic _Fuck You_ to the industry that had raised him and treated him as high-prized commodity from the moment he learned to say _motherboard._

The freedom that had greeted him upon settling in Palo Alto floored him in ways that he couldn’t imagine. He could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted—no Board to think about, no stocks to monitor, and perhaps most significantly, no Obie to pacify. He was finally, after decades of push and pull, in control of his own life.

He chose Political Science because it seemed so far away, and so much more malleable than engineering. He expected to excel in it academically, as he has always done, but never really saw himself as a potential leader for the field. His young self had been attracted to the attention, and to some extent the power the position wielded, but from the moment he stepped foot in the DNC district office it had been one hard, thankless day’s work after another, whose results he will likely never see in his lifetime. So why had he stayed all these years when he could have done something with immediate and certainly life-changing consequences?

He thinks of Rhodey, his best friend and closest confidante, whom his dad would have never allowed him to spend time with if he were still alive (that racist bastard). And Pepper, who spent a whole semester arguing with him relentlessly in their Political Communications class. She would have been sized up as a potential match for Tony in his old world, but Obie would have hated the fact that she had grown up poor and without connections. He thinks of Kate and Darcy, a glaring and perfect example of love in the face of adversity—he would have been forbidden to interact with the LGBT community had he stayed.

Sure, he’s lonely. That is perhaps the one thing that hasn’t changed since he was young and growing up in the shadow of his dad. But he’s not alone anymore. He has a family here—a vibrant, diverse, and passionate family that wasn’t forced on him, but rather had come together around him to fight for worthy causes. Will he really let them down and leave them, after all these years of teamwork and camaraderie?

_You’re underestimating your capacity to love, Tony. You bring people together._

He sighs. If he won’t stay for himself, at the very least, he’ll stay for them.

He asks JARVIS to switch off the lights in his workshop as he goes up the stairs back to his living room. It’s late, but tomorrow’s a big day. There is much more work to be done.


	10. Who Needs Enemies?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry this took a while—I've had most of this written down for a month but the final section was a bitch to write. The next chapter will likely come faster since I've wanted to write that one for so long. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment and tell me what you think!

_Washington DC_  
_November 2012_

In Catholic tradition, November is the Month of the Souls in Purgatory—an apt description for the state of Tony’s soul, if there ever was one. It’s a fitting illustration for his physical state, too. His eyes are dark, sunken, and red from the lack of sleep, his hair disheveled. He is unfocused, his mind floating about—the product of spending the whole night tinkering in his workshop instead of getting some much needed rest, like he originally planned in the first place.

It’s not uncharacteristic of Tony to wreak havoc in the Capitol without any sleep, but it has never been his style to come in to battle unprepared and completely zoned out, especially for something as important as a (potentially hostile) one-on-one with the President. Sure, he has Natasha’s strategy etched into his brain and ready to be executed with the necessary precision that only Tony can deliver, but the big question remains: is his heart in it?

It’s almost eight in the morning and he’s staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. On a normal day he’d be in his office already, raring to go and piss off Republicans, but today he just doesn’t want to deal with any of it. He sighs and turns away from the sorry face in front of him, takes off his ratty workshop clothes and steps in the scalding hot shower.

What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he having such a hard time coming to terms with this damn meeting? It’s not as if it’s the first time he has come face to face with someone with seemingly more power than him. Frankly, his whole political career has lived off of these kinds of moments—moments where he outsmarts those who dare underestimate him. So why can’t he pull himself together and do his job today, of all days?

“Sir,” JARVIS says, breaking Tony from his ruminations. “Ms. Potts is at the front door.”

Tony turns off the shower and wallows in the mist for a moment, listening as the water drips down onto the bathroom floor. He sighs in defeat. _Of course_ Pepper is here. “Let her in and have her come up.”

“Yes, sir.”

He dries off and heads to his closet where he is faced with a myriad of clothing choices. At this point he can’t even bring himself to care about what suit he’s going to wear, but his clothes have, to some degree, been a type of armor for him his whole life. Growing up under the shadow and the iron fist of Howard Stark meant that he had to create a public persona beginning the age of four, and he had to learn how to hide his true self from the world—give the people something about you to talk about, so they don’t have to talk about _you._ He had developed a relationship with clothes as he grew older, realizing how much power a well-tailored suit, perfectly tousled hair, and an electric smile had. That’s what had gotten him through his childhood, and that’s what aided his meteoric rise to the Speakership.

Tony knows that none of that will work on Steve. He has had three months to get to know the person behind all the pomp and circumstance, and if there is one thing he’s certain about the President, it’s that he can smell bullshit from a mile away. And the fact that Tony has been nothing but genuine to him since the start of their… relationship?... means that Steve has gotten to know the Speaker pretty well, too.

He’s nearly fully dressed and drying his hair with a towel when Pepper comes clacking in, gorgeous as ever in a peach power suit. “Wow, you look horrible,” she tells him head-on.

“Thanks,” he responds wearily. “Couldn’t sleep last night. You’ve got to give me credit for trying, though. I told JARVIS to go on sleep mode and everything.” He tries to put a little humor in his voice, but judging by the concerned look on Pepper’s face, it’s not working. “Natasha send you?” he asks, a little resigned.

“No,” she says with a sigh. “But I heard you were summoned, and I had a feeling it was about the President.”

“You knew?”

“Since the shutdown. Remember when the press ambushed you before you entered the White House? I was watching that whole bit with Natasha. She figured it out.”

He smirks and shakes his head. “I never learn.”

Pepper gives him a fond, slightly sad smile. “She let you off easy.”

“Which means she hasn’t let me off at all. The worst is yet to come.” He raises a blue and white tie with his right hand, and a red and gold tie with his left. “Which one?”

“Red has always been your color, despite party affiliations,” Pepper says, amused.

“Thanks.” Tony quickly ties it, fussing over the knot more than he normally does.

Pepper tilts her head, thoughtful and observant. “I’ve never seen you like this before”

“Hm?” Tony is hardly paying any attention to her, still attempting to tie a perfect Windsor knot.

“You’re having a hard time with your tie, which means you’re worried and nervous. You haven’t slept, which means you’re unprepared. You’re wearing one of your favorite and best suits, which means this meeting is extremely important to you.” Pepper walks over to him and re-ties the knot. “You weren’t like this when I broke off our engagement. You weren’t like this when Scott died and your whole world changed _again_ in an instant. And you certainly weren’t like this when Obi came to DC and attempted to blackmail you to get you to back-off on your rhetoric on the Stane-Hammer partnership.”

“Pep…”

“Is he that special?”

“You’re not implying that—“

“I’m not implying anything, Tony.”

“You just asked me if I thought he was special!”

“And you automatically assumed that I was implying you were having an affair with the President?” Pepper questions him with a raised eyebrow. “You of all people should know that we’re in the business of hunting anything and everything that is special in this town. The fact that you immediately jumped to _that_ conclusion means that _he_ is special _to you._ ” She pats the finished knot. “All done.”

Tony looks at her, clearly distressed. “You’re wrong if you think this is something personal.”

“Of course it’s personal, Tony,” Pepper says quietly, sighing in frustration. “I’ve known you since you were a lost teenager in Stanford. Being your partner for a while also helped in the _getting to know Tony_ department. If there’s one thing I’m sure about, dear, is that you don’t give a damn about what someone thinks of you unless that person is someone you really care about.”

The realization dawns on him and Pepper watches it play out on his handsome face—from utter confusion to crisp cognizance to reluctant acceptance. He stares at her, eyes wide, and flumps on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands with a groan. “Jesus Christ, Pep, how could I have let this happen?”

Pepper sits beside him and wraps an arm around his waist. “Oh, darling. I don’t think even you can stop a bullet train with your own bare hands. He’s a great leader and an even greater man. Ask Clint, he’ll back me up on this.”

“I’m not sure invoking Clint was the best thing to do at this point,” he replies with a dark chuckle.

Pepper laughs. “You’re right at that.” She pulls him closer. “Look, Tony, it’s been a hell of a year for us. We lost the White House, we lost the Senate, but then we won the House. You were elected Speaker and suddenly there was this huge weight put on your shoulders because people expect you to go to hell and back for them. I can’t even begin to imagine how isolating that must be.” She sighs. “He’s probably the only person in the world right now who truly understands what that feels like, and I can’t begrudge you of that kind of solace when you’re doing so much for this country.”

Tony turns to her and gives her a strained yet grateful smile. “That was some speech, Miss Potts.”

She shrugs. “All in a day’s work.” Pepper leans in to kiss his right temple. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. If it’s any consolation, we’ve done so much more these past couple of months than we ever expected to. Me being happy with the good work we’ve done because you’ve been collaborating with the President trumps me being pissed at you for keeping your team in the dark about it.”

Tony’s head hangs low. “I’m really sorry about all of that, Pep,” he says, regret evident in his voice.

“I know you are,” she responds gently.

They are quiet for a while. Tony tries to calm himself down with deep and steady breathing, Pepper’s presence helping him regain some much needed equilibrium. This has always been what she is to him—a steady force of strength and guidance—before, during, and after their intense romantic relationship. He had worked extremely hard to keep their friendship intact after their very amicable yet very painful (especially on Tony’s side) breakup, and he’s so grateful that they both stuck it out all these years. She is, at the core of it all, one of his very best friends.

“Oh, Miss Potts, what would I do without you?”

She laughs. “I’d have to bill you if you really want to know.”

“I can’t afford you,” he responds with a shrug, amused.

“Damn right you can’t,” she quips in a singsong voice.

He stands up and prepares to leave for the Capitol, Pepper following suit. They wait for their ride in the living room, both of them fiddling with their phones to check e-mails and messages in relative peace, emotions of their exchange not ten minutes before left behind in Tony’s bedroom.

“I thought of Scott last night,” he tells her softly, breaking the silence between them.

“Really? It’s been a while,” she answers, her tone sad. She pauses, searching Tony’s face for a clue as to where this conversation is headed. Then, gently: “I miss him too.”

“Sometimes I wonder how different things would have been if he were still here.”

Pepper takes a moment to think about what Tony had just said. “Knowing Scott, he would have pushed you to run for President.”

“I don’t doubt that. Although Natasha would disagree with him. Strongly. Perhaps violently.”

Pepper titters. “Oh god, I would pay to see Natasha and Scott go head to head.”

“The fight of the century,” Tony says with a chuckle. “Imagine the team betting on who’d give up first. Wade would be the one to start it, of course.”

“Natasha would _hate_ that.”

“And Scott would love it, which would make it a hundred times more fun.” They both dissolve into laughter.

When the fun dies down, Pepper gazes at Tony intently and tells him with all seriousness, “I’m sure if he were here today he’d be extremely proud of you, Tony.”

Tony blinks, the statement catching him off guard. “I sure hope so. I’d hate to disappoint him.”

“With how much you’ve sacrificed and done for him? Tony, that’s not even remotely possible.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say.

“And trust me, I’m not the only one who thinks that,” Pepper adds.

“Sir, Mr. Dugan has arrived,” JARVIS announces to Tony’s relief. He doesn’t think he can handle any more emotionally loaded conversations at the moment. He needs to steel himself for the fight in front of him.

“You ready?” Pepper asks as they head outside towards the car that Happy had sent for them.

Tony takes a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

//

It’s barely five in the morning and Steve has a pit in his stomach that he can’t get rid of.

He’s had it since last night, since realizing that he had been unreasonable with Tony and used his power and position to demand something that he probably did not have any right to. The way he’d phrased it—he _ordered_ Tony to come to the White House like a good, obedient foot soldier—didn’t sit well with him, and the cold sensation of regret washed over him immediately after he had hung up.

He can’t get Tony’s pleading voice out of his head. The way Tony had said _please_ haunted him throughout the night, and it kept him from closing his eyes for more than five minutes. He couldn’t sleep at all. He set up an easel and canvas in the private sitting room, right in front of the windows overlooking the South Lawn, and painted all night.

It took a while before he got his artistic bearings back—the last time he had picked up a brush was before Peggy’s death—but once it came to him, he poured his heart and soul onto that canvas.

Politics had been his world his whole life. Instead of growing up in the shadow of his uncle, the late and great Michael Rogers, he grew up beside him in the Senate. Michael wanted to keep the Rogers family as influential as possible, and it was obvious that he was grooming Steve to assume the mantle. The young Rogers didn’t complain—he was grateful that his Uncle Michael and Aunt Hannah had taken him in after his parents’ death, sent him to the best schools, and loved him like their own.

He carried the role of dutiful heir with ease, following orders and making the decisions that were expected of him. He went to Georgetown because that’s where Uncle Michael went. He enlisted in the army because Uncle Michael was one of the Senate’s staunchest supporters of veterans. Not once did he say no to his uncle, not once did he offer his opinion on his uncle’s plans for him. He said yes not because he was blindly walking along the path that had been laid out for him, but because it was a path that allowed him to use his privilege to help a lot of people.

He doesn’t regret it, of course not. He would never regret it. It was, first and foremost, an honor to serve the American people as their soldier and alongside his uncle, and it is an even bigger honor to serve them as their President. He can’t think of any other way growing up than helping people, serving them, and he would never trade the life he’s had for anything.

But art has always been his soul, his core, his center. It kept him alive in the darkest of times—the aftermath of the fire that made him an orphan, his two extended tours to Afghanistan, Uncle Michael’s sudden death, Aunt Hannah’s shortly after him, and Peggy’s long fight with cancer. Art made him feel safe in a world that had taken everyone he loved from him. It gave him hope, and reminded him of the beauty of humanity in a sea of pain and suffering.

For all the control that Uncle Michael had on his life, art was the one thing that Steve truly wanted for himself, and over the years he rode an undercurrent of relief that his uncle never demanded him to give up his paint and sketchbooks. So while he doesn’t regret going on the path of least resistance, sometimes he thinks about what life would be for him if he had insisted on forging his own way.

But, with everything going so well, Steve thinks that this is exactly where he is supposed to be.

He’s looking at the finished painting now, taking a long, hard look at what he had created, and for the life of him could not understand what it was—all whites, blues, grays, depicting a sort of light source emitting a bluish hue—but gazing at it is calming him, evening out his breathing and stilling his mind. For some reason, the painting reminds him so much of home.

It still doesn’t make the pit in his stomach disappear, though.

Which is why he decides right then and there to come clean with Bruce on his arrangement with Tony. If he is going to get through the rest of this day and the Presidency intact, he’s going to need his second-in-command behind him. He calls up his Chief of Staff to invite him to have breakfast with him.

He walks in the dining room about an hour later. Bruce is scanning the news on his phone while waiting, the breakfast spread all laid out on the table, and stands to greet Steve when he enters the room.

“Thanks for coming at such short notice, Bruce,” Steve tells his Chief of Staff, gratitude clear in his tone.

“I serve at the pleasure of the President,” Bruce replies as they sit down. “You sounded very serious on the phone.”

“I am,” Steve admits, and takes a deep breath before continuing. “I spent all night thinking about this, and I figured it was time to tell you. Confess, if you will.”

“I’m all ears, sir.”

Steve starts from the beginning, recounting the events that led to this very breakfast with excruciating detail. Bruce listens with studious concentration, his face neutral yet soft with understanding. Steve is grateful for that—he doesn’t know if he can handle any sort of judgment right now.

“And now we’re here,” Steve says finally, a little exhausted. “I haven’t slept, I’m all over the place, and the sitting room has paint everywhere.”

Bruce leans back on his chair and eyes the President carefully. “I was wondering how you had been able to get around Congress without going through our kids at Congressional Liaison.”

“I feel terrible about keeping you in the dark, Bruce.”

“Don’t get me wrong, sir, I’m not complaining. I’m just a little worried that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me that this was going on,” Bruce admits to him, his tone that of an intellectual assessment rather than an interrogation. There is no hint of hurt in his voice.

Steve sighs. “It’s not about trust, at least not at the heart of it. I trust you implicitly, Bruce, with both my life and the future of this country. I just didn’t think that this was something that was done in this town, to go across the aisle without any agenda or hidden motives and just offer genuine collaboration. And I’ll just say it right now: I had all the intention to tell you after the first few talks I had with Tony, but… I guess I wanted to protect Tony as well. I wanted it to be a decision we both made together. It would have felt like a betrayal otherwise.”

Bruce takes a moment to fully grasp the President’s admission. “You’re right that it’s not something that’s done here. Everything is quid pro quo and nothing is for free in this line of work. But you’re the President, sir. You can do whatever you want. And frankly, I find it honorable that you were willing to work with Tony Stark on such authentic terms.”

“I think I fucked it up, though,” he declares, rubbing his temples.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “That’s probably the first time I’ve heard you curse in the White House.”

Steve chuckles. “I think I’m allowed to this one time.”

“That you are, sir.” Bruce smiles. “But I wouldn’t say you’ve fucked up.”

Steve’s brow furrows. “How so?”

“I know Tony Stark. I know his people and I know how they work. They’re difficult to work with, yes, but it’s mostly about being protective of one another than anything else. They all have a history with one another and go way back—Stark, Potts, Odinson, Romanoff, Barton, Van Dyne. Heck, even Wilson. With that said, I honestly think that this business with Pierce’s resignation isn’t about undermining or one-upping you. It’s about these people having their own system, their own way of finding out the truth. They’re good people, and they’re not trying to destroy this country. They’re just a family—a very close-knit and vigilant family.”

Steve remains quiet, reflecting on his Chief of Staff’s point of view.

“And to be frank, sir,” Bruce continues. “And don’t take this the wrong way, I mean absolutely no offense whatsoever—but you have no business being in their world. You don’t know them, and you’re not a part of their family, even with your close relationship with Stark.”

The revelation that he might not be that important in Tony’s life catches him off guard and stings Steve more than it should.

Bruce tilts his head, observing the emotions that are playing across his boss’ face. “You care about him, don’t you, Mr. President?”

Steve bursts out laughing, finding the question incredibly funny yet extremely terrifying at the same time. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve, sir. That’s why you won the Presidency.”

“He _is_ an exceptionally brilliant man, Bruce,” Steve says without hesitation. “He’s extremely good at what he does. And what is most important to me is that he cares so much. He won’t admit it, not out loud at least, but I just know that just genuinely cares.”

“That’s Tony Stark in a nutshell,” Bruce agrees, letting the fact that Steve did not entirely answer his question pass.

“What do you think I should do?”

Bruce takes a moment to reflect on it. “I’d say trust your gut, but also remember that Stark doesn’t like it when he’s backed up in a corner. As with the rest of his team. So try not to push him too hard, sir, or we may end up alienating both the Speaker and the most influential people in the Democratic Party.”

Steve nods in agreement. “I appreciate you starting your day early to meet with me. I really needed this talk to get my head straight.”

“It’s in the job description, sir,” Bruce jokes. “But the pleasure is definitely all mine. Can I ask, though, if you will be extending the same courtesy to the Vice President?”

“I’ll find some time to tell him about all of this before the week ends. It wouldn’t be helpful to us if we kept him in the dark.”

Bruce gives him a terse nod and checks his watch. “Should we head to the Oval? You have a full day ahead of you.”

Steve responds in the affirmative, takes a deep breath, and counts to three.

//

The first word out of Steve’s mouth is soft and a little tender: “Tony.”

Tony wonders why he ever thought that it was even remotely possible that he could have been ready for this meeting.

“Hi,” he responds meekly, smiling through his nerves. His heart is beating fast and he’s sweating through his very expensive suit.

“I appreciate you coming today. Please, have a seat,” he says, directing Tony to couches. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Tony shakes his head, “I’m good, thank you,” and settles down.

“I’m sorry about the way I talked to you yesterday. I had no business being that brusque,” Steve begins, his voice solemn. “I’m glad you still came.”

“It’s a pleasure, sir,” Tony responds tentatively, not knowing what else to say.

Steve chuckles. “Are we back to ‘sir’ again? Come on, Tony. I didn’t ask you to come here so I could yell at you. I just want to talk.” He sits in front of Tony, his fingers twitching and his posture a little tense.

“That wasn’t the impression that I got yesterday,” Tony answers rather honestly, defenses now starting to come up. As much as Steve sounds genuine, he doesn’t like this sudden return to their rapport.

Tony’s apprehension abruptly makes the air around the two uneasy and tentative. He wonders if this is all going south, if Natasha’s strategy still has any mettle at this point, even if the meeting had just begun.

Steve hangs his head, a little ashamed. “I know, and I truly am sorry. My emotions got the better of me. I’m not proud of how I treated you last night.” He takes a deep breath. “The last thing I want to do is lose your trust.”

“Trust goes both ways, Steve.”

Steve smiles at Tony’s use of his name. “And I trust _you_ , Tony.”

“Do you really?” Tony challenges. He knows that he’s testing the limits of the white flag that Steve is metaphorically waving in front of him, but he’s tired of all the fun and games. And if this is one of Steve’s tactics to get him to talk, well, as they say—fool him once and all that.

“I do,” Steve replies with certainty.

“Because if you’re saying all of this to butter me up so I will finally give in about my information on Pierce, then you should just get straight to the point and ask me outright.”

Steve gives him an incredulous look. “What?—that’s not—why are you being difficult?”

Tony shrugs, trying to keep his demeanor nonchalant and non-confrontational. “I’m not. I’m just being realistic.”

“Realistic? Tony, since when have we—“ Steve rubs his temples, frustration and irritation clear on his face. “Are you trying to punish me for the way I talked to you last night?”

“I’m not that petty, Steve. You know me better than that.”

“If you’re behaving this way, then it doesn’t seem like I do at all!” he exclaims in exasperation. “What do you want from me, Tony?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question? _You_ were the one who ordered me to come here, Steve. I asked you to trust me and you demanded that I come here like a loyal servant.” Tony holds his steely gaze, unbowed. He’s tired of it all—tired of the games, tired of Steve ordering him to do things just because he can. If all these months had been a ruse, then he fell for it hook, line and sinker, didn’t he?

He’s all in now, and there’s no turning back. He can’t afford a betrayal, especially not from the most powerful man in the world.

Steve stares at him disbelievingly, clearly surprised at Tony’s sudden cold recalcitrance. “I just spent the last five minutes telling you how sorry I am about that! Why can’t you trust that I’m being sincere?”

“Because I’ve been in this business longer than you have, Steve,” Tony says softly after a long pause, his tone dangerous. “Sincere or not, you still want whatever information I have on Pierce.”

Tony’s tactless pronouncement shocks Steve into silence.

“Admit it, Steve, you don’t trust me. Not really,” Tony continues. “I wouldn’t be here being intimidated into talking if you did.”

Steve smirks, seemingly regaining his composure. “And I’d say you don’t trust me either, Tony, if you’re being this stubborn.”

“I’ve told you many times that I trust you implicitly.”

“And yet you’re not willing to share information with me.”

Tony breaks into a genuine smile. “Oho, look who has turned the tables. My, you learn quickly.”

Steve holds his gaze. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are. So am I.”

“Were you ever going to tell me anything, or was that bit about the “big picture” just a ruse to keep me interested?” Steve asks, clearly irked at the circles he and Tony keep running in.

Tony takes a deep breath before he responds, preparing himself for the displeased reaction that he knows his reply will elicit. “I don’t know the answer to that.”

“You don’t know the answer, or you simply don’t want to answer?” Steve challenges.

And in that moment, Tony snaps and loses any pretense in keeping calm. “Do you think this is a joke to me, Steve? Do you think I’m doing all of this just to spite you and the GOP? That I’m playing a game and using you to some selfish end?” He smiles, all fake and, if you look closely, a little pained. “I didn’t know you thought so little of me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Steve answers.

“You might as well have.”

“So is this how it’s going to be?” Steve asks quietly. “Is this how you’re going to react every time something like this happens?”

“You want what I cannot give, Steve.” Tony takes a deep breath and tries to settle himself. “And, I think, no matter how many times I tell you that this has nothing to do with me not trusting you—because I do trust you, Steve, I really, truly do—you won’t believe me until I give in.”

Tony hopes that this last-ditch effort to be genuine will turn the tide of this meeting.

“I guess we have nothing more to talk about, then,” Steve says after a long pause.

In hindsight, Tony was expecting this—he did spend an entire evening with Natasha discussing every possible outcome, after all—but nothing could have prepared him for the hurt brought about by the realization that his partnership with Steve was nothing more than a convenient arrangement. He had gravely miscalculated their relationship, and he had set himself up for the heartbreak of investing so much time, energy, and emotional capital in the wrong person.

_You never learn, Stark._

Tony sighs and responds in defeat, “No, I guess not.”

Steve stands, buttons his suit and extends his hand. “I appreciate you coming in, Mr. Speaker.” His tone is professional and detached, a far cry from his greeting some twenty minutes before.

Tony takes a few seconds to search Steve’s face for a flicker of…anything really, that could tell him that this isn’t the end of the line for them. When all he sees is an impassive expression, he resigns to the situation and accepts the President’s hand. “It was my pleasure, Mr. President. I do hope we continue working together on important issues.”

Steve only nods, hardly acknowledging Tony’s olive branch.

Outside the White House, Tony releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

 _Well,_ he thinks, _that’s that._

He has never wanted a drink more in his life.


	11. Seeing Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do we have here? ;)
> 
> This has certainly been one of the most enjoyable chapters to write. I had been wanting to write this particular chapter for so long, it was a great experience putting my imagination into words, especially the latter half. It's about a thousand words more than my usual chapter length—that's how much I loved writing this.
> 
> Fair warning, though: information overload! I lay down a lot of stuff here that will be important in the third (and final) arc, so be mindful of the details...
> 
> Again, please drop a word of encouragement at the comments section. Better yet, tell me what you think! I love it when you guys are so enthusiastic about these lovely characters.

_Washington DC_  
_The day before Thanksgiving 2012_

Jessica Drew stands behind the door leading to the Justice department’s press room, her heart beating furiously, almost violently. She reads and re-reads the piece of paper she is holding. By now she has memorized the one-pager by heart, but that doesn’t stop her from scanning the words again and again and again. Anyone can see that she’s nervous—it’s not her first press conference, but it could perhaps be the most important one of her career.

A hand squeezes her shoulder gently. She turns around to see Carol standing behind her, giving her a reassuring and encouraging smile

“How are you doing, Jess?” Carol asks warmly.

“A bit nervous,” Jessica responds with an anxious laugh.

Carol chuckles. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t. You’ll do great. I would know, I chose you to lead this case after all.”

Jessica ducks her head, self-conscious. Carol has always thought highly of her, and trusting her with this case makes that very clear. That thought, however, makes her even more nervous.

“Two minutes,” says the department’s press secretary.

Jessica takes a deep breath and tries to center herself.

“I’ll be right there with you,” Carol says. “Good luck.”

The door to the press room opens and a wave of flashing lights and camera sounds engulf Jessica as she gets up to the podium. She steels herself for what’s to come—this press conference is only the beginning of a long and difficult road for her and her team.

Jessica clears her throat and makes a final quick scan of the room. She spots Carol’s determined face in the crowd and, with a curt nod from the Attorney General, begins with her statement.

“Today, indictments were unsealed charging Alexander Pierce, former Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, for his alleged involvement in the unlawful release and subsequent disappearance of evidence pertinent to an Ohio smuggling case.

“The Defendant is charged with three counts of bribery, as he targeted members of law enforcement and the federal bench to ensure the release of the smuggled controlled substances from evidence hold.

“A more detailed breakdown of the indictments is currently being distributed to the press corps by staff members of the Justice department.

“We will now open the floor for questions.”

//

Jessica Jones goes down a flight of stairs hidden behind the dish cabinet of a gritty bar near Logan Circle. She is met by the tense yet excited faces of the Democratic Party’s most popular and most powerful political operatives. They’re all tuned to the flat screen mounted on the wall, the Justice department’s press conference playing on loop.

“I haven’t seen everyone this excited since Barton was about to face plant himself at Thor’s wedding,” Jessica greets them, amused.

“Hoover’s here!” Clint exclaims, snapping the TV-induced trance occupying everyone in the room.

The ladies break into a smile. Janet, Pepper, and Natasha all rush towards Jessica and welcome her warmly.

“Glad we could drag you out of the fluorescent-lit dungeons of Hoover for a night,” Pepper greets her with a peck on the cheek.

“And miss all the fun? Please,” Jessica responds with a laugh.

“Don’t let her sunny disposition fool you—it was a bitch getting her out of the FBI headquarters,” Tony warns them jokingly.

“That’s because it was you doing the dragging, Tony. I wouldn’t have minded if you had sent the ladies after me,” the FBI agent retorts.

Tony shrugs, smiling. “Blame Natasha.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow in faux offense. “Duly noted.”

“We haven’t met,” interjects a portly man with blonde hair hovering behind the guys. He extends a hand towards Jessica. “Foggy Nelson.”

Jessica accepts and smiles, recognizing the name and the face. “Matt Murdock’s partner?”

Foggy nods. “The very same.”

“Seeing as everyone is here—colleagues, shall we start?” Thor booms.

The Democrats gather around in an uneven circle, animated by the astounding legal developments of the day, all thanks to Jessica Drew’s explosive press conference earlier that morning. The excited murmuring dies down when Natasha raises her hand, drawing everyone’s attention to her.

“Let’s make this quick,” Natasha starts, clearly impatient and ready to get the meeting over with. “I know many of you are leaving for your respective Thanksgiving celebrations tonight. Clint, do you want to start?” 

Clint nods. “Sure. Alright, just for the benefit of our newcomers—“ he motions to Foggy and Jessica, “—we were alerted of the possibility of Pierce resigning about a month ago. We followed that lead, talked to people who don’t currently hate us and found out that the DOJ was building a case against him. We knew he was being charged for bribery, perhaps fraud, but we weren’t entirely sure about the details of the case.” He looks to Tony.

Tony continues. “Then a couple of weeks ago, thanks to some epic sleuthing and with a little help from our friends, we uncovered two key elements in the Pierce saga: a case in Ohio that involved some vibranium and a man in New York named Richard Parker. I’ll let Foggy tell you the rest.”

“Thanks Tony. Let’s start with the case in Ohio. About eighteen months ago, a small think tank named Advanced Idea Mechanics, or AIM, was caught smuggling in about five kilograms of vibranium into Cleveland. They were charged but never went to court—the vibranium disappeared long before a trial date was set, and the judge ultimately dismissed the case,” Foggy explains.

“I assume this is where Pierce comes in,” Janet interjects.

“Yes,” the lawyer responds. “The Justice department found evidence of him bribing the judge assigned to the case to postpone the hearing, giving him ample time to then bribe Cleveland police to release the vibranium. We can delve more into that but I’m sure you’ve already read the briefing packet released by the DOJ this morning.”

“Do we know where the vibranium ended up?” Pepper asks.

“This is where Matt and I come in,” Foggy answers, visibly more excited at this part of the narrative. “About a year ago, we started hearing about vibranium being sold for a fortune in Hell’s Kitchen. When it was clear that the rumors were very real, everyone wanted a piece of the pie—it caused a lot of chaos on the streets. The DOJ got involved when the Wakandan embassy started asking questions about vibranium that they didn’t known had left their borders.”

“Did T’challa mention anything to you about this when you met at that dinner a couple of months ago?” Natasha asks Tony.

Tony shakes his head. “We talked about vibranium, sure, I’ve been itching to get my hands on some samples—legally, of course—but absolutely nothing about this case.”

“That’s because Wakanda never talks about any alleged vibranium movement,” Foggy clarifies. “Which makes this case even more mind-boggling. How was AIM even able to get that much vibranium out of Wakanda when it’s heavily monitored by Wakandan authorities in and out of the country?”

“Do we know what was written on the customs docket?” Wade questions from the other end of the room.

“Five kilograms of iron delivered from South Africa by a company called Alchemax.”

Thor raises a hand. “Have you unearthed anything about this Alchemax? Or Advanced Idea Mechanics for that matter?”

Foggy shakes his head. “Not yet, but we’re working on it.”

“The FBI’s been pulled in to follow the money trail of both companies,” Jessica adds. “I’ll let you know if the White-Collar Crime division has made some headway on this.”

“And Richard Parker?” Pepper reminds the group.

“Ah, this is where it gets interesting,” Foggy says, his tone going a notch more excited. “Richard Parker is a scientist who worked for Oscorp for around ten years before finally retiring from the research industry in 2010. He approached Matt and me around the same time that Hell’s Kitchen was blowing up, because Oscorp had requested him to come back for a short contract to experiment on some new material they had come across.”

“Let me guess: vibranium?” Wade puts forward.

Foggy nods.

“What the hell is Oscorp doing with smuggled vibranium?” Janet asks the group, unnerved. “They’re biochemical, they don’t deal with nuclear-grade metal.”

“And at this point, they hadn’t asked Parker to sign the contract or a non-disclosure agreement prior to revealing that they had vibranium,” Foggy goes on to say.

“I don’t understand.” Thor rubs his temples, clearly befuddled with the facts that Foggy had presented them. “Why would they divulge such sensitive information without the insurance of a signed legal document?”

“Parker thinks it’s because Oscorp never wanted him to retire in the first place, and has been constantly wooing him with high-level, high-budget, short-term research contracts. He says that this sort of behavior has been consistent these past two years, but then none of the previous offers included highly controlled metal,” Foggy clarifies.

“But you thought otherwise,” Pepper suggests.

“Matt and I both did,” Foggy assents. “Which was why we agreed to represent him, and helped him get a meeting with the Wakandan embassy to consult on the authenticity of the alleged vibranium. We were both certain that Wakandan officials would have no comment, but if the vibranium had come into the country illegally, then at least they would be notified and would act accordingly.”

“So Richard is the reason why Pierce was caught,” Janet concludes.

Foggy smiles, triumphant. “In a nutshell.”

“Is he okay?” Pepper asks, a little alarmed. “Is he safe?”

“Carol put him and his family under witness protection,” Tony responds to reassure the group.

“And if you haven’t noticed, his name is never mentioned in the Pierce case,” Foggy adds.

“More questions than answers, though,” Natasha says after staying silent for most of the discussion. “And a new piece of the puzzle: Oscorp. Jessica, does Pierce have any known associates?”

Jessica shakes her head. “He’s clean, spotless even. But we’re digging deeper into both his personal and professional history to figure out why he did this, because that’s not very clear at this point. The DOJ is having a hard time establishing motive, and that is potentially where they could lose the case.”

“Ties to Oscorp?” Wade raises.

“None so far.”

Janet jumps in. “Did you ever figure out where Oscorp got their vibranium?”

Jessica shakes her head. “No. The FBI is working on getting a warrant to search the New York office, but I suspect the vibranium will be long gone by the time FBI agents set foot in the Oscorp building.”

The group falls quiet, taking in the weight of the information that was just dumped on them. While Tony, Clint and Natasha had heard all of this before, opening up to the rest of their team puts things into better perspective, and allows for new modes of thinking that could help them unravel the mysteries of a case that has suddenly gotten much bigger than bribery.

“Well then,” Thor says suddenly after a long stretch of silence. “Clearly there is much work to be done. I suggest we use the Thanksgiving festivities to reflect on what’s ahead, and then reconvene after holidays.” He looks to Natasha for approval.

Natasha gives him a curt nod, concurring. “Thor is right, let’s re-energize over the long weekend so when we come back we are brand new people. Jessica, Foggy, thanks for coming in, we appreciate it. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone,” she greets them, effectively dismissing the group.

The Democrats mill about for a few more minutes and say their holiday greetings and goodbyes. Tony and Jessica are huddled in a corner, some ways away from the well-wishing bunch that had congregated in the middle of the room.

“You sure you won’t get into trouble for this, Hoover?” Tony asks her with mirth, but concern still clear on his face.

Jessica smiles slyly. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Tony chuckles and gives her a hug. “Always the rebel.”

“You coming to AA anytime soon?”

“After the holidays, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

They say their goodbyes and Jessica takes leave of the room, bidding farewell to everyone else who had not left yet after being cornered by Natasha for a couple of minutes, no doubt to talk more about the case.

Pepper walks over to Tony and squeezes his shoulder. “You’re still welcome to spend Thanksgiving with me and Happy in California. Flight doesn’t leave until nine tonight, I’m sure they’ll give you a seat if you smile and flutter your eyelashes.”

Tony laughs, hiding the melancholy simmering underneath the surface. “It’s alright, Pep. I’m looking forward to a quiet weekend. Haven’t had that in a while since…you know.”

Pepper tilts her head, observing her best friend quietly. “If you’re sure.”

Tony gives her a nod, still smiling. “I’m sure.”

“Alright then. Happy Thanksgiving, Tony.” She gives him a peck on the cheek and walks away.

It’s Clint who is last to say his goodbyes. “You skipping town tonight?” Tony asks him.

“Yeah, I’m spending Thanksgiving with Kate and Darcy in New Mexico. Looking forward to Mama Lewis’ cooking,” Clint tells him, patting his belly.

“Ah,” Tony chuckles. “Kate did mention something to that effect. You guys have fun. Give the girls a hug for me.”

Clint pats his shoulder. “Will do, Tones. You take care of yourself, alright? And don’t let JARVIS have all the fun.”

“Sure thing.”

After seeing all his friends off and smiling the last of whatever holiday cheer he has, Tony finally leaves the room and heads out. He decides to brave the cold and walk the three miles from the bar to his house, forcing himself to brood over the Pierce case rather than dwell on the fact that he would be spending Thanksgiving alone and, an even more painful thought, that Steve had not talked to him in weeks.

//

It takes him about an hour to walk from Logan Circle to Georgetown, and fatigue seeps through his bones as he trudges through the last half-mile. He thinks about what he’ll cook tonight—he promised himself he wouldn’t buy take-out, it’s Thanksgiving weekend after all—and absolutely cannot wait to bury himself in forgotten engineering projects for the next four days. Sure, he’ll be alone, but at least he’ll think of nothing else but codes and machines.

Barring any surprise meltdowns in the Capitol, of course.

When he opens the door, however, it doesn’t seem as though the universe is planning on giving him the peace and quiet he so desperately wants. He is greeted by the sight of a crimson duffel bag lying on the floor of the foyer, a pair white sneakers scattered towards the direction of the kitchen, and hip-hop music blasting from the speakers installed in every room in the house. Tony’s brows furrow, deposits his coat in the entryway closet and heads toward the kitchen, looking just about ready for a brawl.

What Tony finds is a blonde girl fretting and bobbing about in his kitchen. A turkey sits on the far end of the kitchen counter, defrosting, and brown paper bags filled with groceries are parked beside it. The table is set for two.

“What the hell, Cassie?!” Tony shouts over the music, completely stupefied by the display in front of him. JARVIS automatically turns down the volume of the tunes.

Cassie whips around and smiles brightly. “Surprise!”

“You are supposed to be at your mother’s!” Tony says, still clearly in shock.

“The hell I’m flying all the way to Arizona and spending Thanksgiving with her when my favorite godfather is just a train ride away,” Cassie tells him with a smile as she drains the spaghetti over the sink.

“First of all, I’m your _only_ godfather, and second of all, that’s nearly a seven-hour train ride!” Tony exclaims in exasperation. “And I had Kate confirm your _first-class ticket_ to Phoenix days ago!”

“Now now, Uncle Tony. I’ll start to think you don’t want me here,” she teases.

Tony sighs and opens his arms wide in resignation. “Come here.”

Cassie smiles even wider and dashes over her godfather to give him a hug. “Good to see you, Uncle Tones.”

“I’m going to murder Kate,” Tony murmurs in her hair. “Nice to see Harvard that hasn’t killed you, Cass.”

“Yet,” she says with a groan. “Remind me again why I decided to take pre-med at one of the toughest, most competitive schools in the world?”

“Don’t look at me, I was more than happy to have you at home and studying in Georgetown,” he replies with a shrug.

“Just admit that you miss me, Uncle Tones, so we can do away with this charade.”

“Goes without saying, Stinger.” He breaks the hug with a kiss on top of her head. “What’s cooking?”

Cassie returns to the kitchen sink, where the spaghetti is completely drained of excess water. “Just some Seafood Aglio e Olio. JARVIS said you’d been stuck in the Capitol the whole day, with the whole Pierce thing. Figured you might want one of your favorite dishes for dinner when you got home.”

Tony smiles at her thoughtfulness and feels his heart sting a little. Yes, he really has missed his goddaughter. “Need any help?”

She drizzles olive oil over a pan and turns the stove on. “Yes, can you hand me the squid, clams and shrimps I set aside there by the turkey?”

Tony does as he is told. “I assume the turkey is for tomorrow?”

Cassie lights up. “Of course! Had Kate reserve one for me at Stachowski’s a couple of weeks ago. Picked it up when I arrived.” She unloads the seafood on the pan and drizzles more olive oil on it.

“I’m seriously going to give Kate a stern talking to after the holidays,” Tony says humorlessly.

“Aww, come on, Uncle Tones. Thanksgiving has always been our thing. Didn’t you want to spend it with me?” she asks, but with a hint of sadness in her voice.

Tony bows his head, not meeting her eyes. “Of course I did. I just thought you wanted to spend it with your mother, is all.”

Cassie rolls her eyes. “Please. Just because she decided to come back into my life thirteen years after she left it doesn’t give her any rights to my holiday plans whatsoever.” After gently pan-frying the seafood, she dumps the spaghetti on the pan and starts mixing, sprinkling salt, pepper and bits of basil. “Besides, being a legal adult affords me the right to make decisions without the input or say-so of my living biological parent.” She turns the stove off after a few more minutes and flips the pasta one last time. “All done! Pass me the plates?”

Tony stands in front of her, carrying a plate on each hand as she serves the pasta. He lays both down on the table and they sit for dinner.

“How’s school?” he asks her.

She grins. “Really great. I mean, it’s not a walk in the park but I’m enjoying it a lot, and it’s a really good batch of students—great lab partners, study buddies, and all that.”

“Glad to know the money I’m paying for tuition isn’t going to waste,” Tony jokes.

Cassie flips her hair. “You know I’m worth it.” They both laugh.

She takes a deep breath and contemplates her godfather. “How are you, Uncle Tones?” Cassie asks, a bit more serious now.

Tony shrugs. “Same old, same old. The Capitol’s a bit of a mess, but nothing we can’t handle.”

“The thing with Pierce is insane, though.”

“Tell me about it,” Tony says with a snort.

“I’ll bet he resigned because he knew he was going to get slapped with this case.”

Tony tilts his head, and breaks into a proud and knowing smile. “Smart girl.”

She smiles smugly. “I got it from my godfather.”

They finish dinner and head to their rooms to quickly dress into more comfortable clothing. Tony insists that he do the dishes, which Cassie accepts without much fuss. She accompanies him in the kitchen, writing a paper as he rinses plates, scrubs the pans and loads them into the dishwasher.

They continue like this in relative silence for a while, only to be broken by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Tony and Cassie turn to each other, surprise on their faces.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Tony asks his goddaughter, a little alarmed.

She shakes her head. “No. Are you?”

Tony shakes his hands over the sink to expel the excess water, and dries them using the towel hanging on the handle of one of the drawers. “JARVIS?”

“Sir, perhaps it is best if you answer the door,” the AI responds mysteriously.

Tony quickly heads to the front door, Cassie on his heels.

He is met by the bewildered face of the President of the United States.

//

Jessica Drew’s press conference had caught everyone in the White House off guard. The DOJ had been deathly quiet about this case—no whisper of it anywhere near the West Wing—and he had called his Attorney General in immediately after the last question was answered. Carol strode in his office about twenty minutes later, proudly defiant. They had hammered down and solved their issues, of course, but not after they had spent almost half an hour in a screaming match.

But that was why he’d chosen Carol Danvers to be his Attorney General in the first place, despite major opposition from the most conservative members of his party. He needed someone with a tough, take-no-shit attitude that would stick to their principles no matter what.

Still, that doesn’t mean that he can’t be pissed about Carol completely hiding this from him. But Carol and her team had ultimately done the right thing, and he didn’t need to be a genius to figure out that he’d been very, very wrong about Tony. He knew then, right after speaking with Carol, that he had to apologize for the way he had treated Tony during their last meeting, and he knew that he simply couldn’t pick up the phone and say ‘I’m sorry.’

This is why he ends up ringing the doorbell to Tony’s home, his Secret Service detail huddled closely behind him, black unmarked SUVs parked on an almost empty street.

When Tony answers the door, astonishment clear on his face, Steve can’t help but return the reaction. He had never seen Tony out of an immaculate suit, and here he was right in front of Steve, in nothing but a dark MIT tank top and a pair of gray sweatpants. He could have never imagined the Speaker of the House so attractive and still so imposing dressed down. In fact, he was even _more_ attractive like this, Steve can’t help but notice. But he dismisses that thought as quickly as it had come to him.

_Focus, Steve._

What really baffles him, though, is not that Tony is looking casual, but that there is a petite blonde teenager hovering behind him, staring at Steve with wide blue eyes. For some reason, he had expected Tony to be alone during Thanksgiving, and now that Steve knows he isn’t he doesn’t quite know what to do or say.

Clearly he hadn’t thought this strategy through.

“Holy fuck, Uncle Tony, what did you do?” asks the teenager incredulously.

 _Uncle_ Tony?

“Maybe you guys should come inside first,” Tony responds, his tone neutral.

They shuffle inside, with four Secret Service men following them, leaving two standing in front Tony’s front door.

“Mr. Speaker,” starts one of them, “may we inspect the premises?”

“Go right ahead. There’s another entrance to the house inside the library, it goes right into the garden. Feel free to stand imposingly by it,” Tony informs them. “I’m the only one who can open the basement, so just yell if you need to take a look at that as well.”

“Thank you, sir.” And they leave the three of them standing in the foyer.

Tony clears his throat, breaking the awkward silence between them. “This is my goddaughter, Cassie Lang. Cassie, this is the President of the United States.”

Steve extends his hand towards her, and she accepts. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cassie.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. President,” she responds with an excited smile.

He points at her shirt. “I see you’re a Harvard girl.”

She lifts her chin proudly. “First year, pre-med.”

“Tough. But I’m sure you can handle it.”

“Of course, I’m technically a Stark. I can handle anything,” Cassie says, the Stark arrogance dripping with every word. “You went to Georgetown, right?”

Steve nods. “Yes, Political Science.”

“See Cass, if you’d gone to Georgetown like I suggested, you would be able to say you went to the President’s alma mater,” Tony teases her.

Cassie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, as opposed to the seven other former presidents who went to Harvard. Not to mention various Nobel Prize winners, Pulitzer Prize winners, Oscar winners… Should I keep going?”

Steve laughs. “She got you there, Tony.”

Tony opens his mouth to respond, but a phone rings before he can even get a word out. Cassie holds up hers to let them know. “It’s school-related. Is it okay if I take this in the kitchen? My laptop’s there.”

“Go right ahead,” Tony permits.

“It was an honor to meet you, Mr. President,” she says with a little bow.

Steve smiles at her. “Believe me, the honor was all mine.”

Cassie leaves the two men alone and they fall into a heavy silence, trying not to meet each other’s eyes. After weeks of radio silence, Steve doesn’t know how to approach him, let alone begin apologizing for what happened during that disastrous afternoon in the Oval Office.

“Do you want a tour of the house?” Tony asks him tentatively.

Steve nearly sighs in relief. “That would be great.”

Tony takes him to the sprawling living room, where the first thing he notices is the well-stocked bar at the end of the room. This puzzles and alarms him, as one of Washington DC’s worst-kept secrets is that Tony is a recovering alcoholic. He desperately wants to ask about it, but isn’t sure if he’d be crossing a line.

Tony must be sensing Steve’s apprehension because he addresses it head on. “I only use this bar when I’m entertaining. I haven’t had a drink in thirteen years.”

Steve doesn’t press the issue.

The next room Tony takes him to is the library. It’s not as big as the living room, but for some reason, it’s even more impressive. The walls are lined with rows and rows of books, with pieces of scientific trinkets here and there as decorative elements. The earth-tone sofas and armchairs look extremely comfortable, clearly chosen and placed in such a way that you would lose track of time reading the thousands of books on the dark, wooden shelves. Steve is dazzled.

“I can see that you like this room,” Tony remarks.

“It’s magnificent, Tony,” Steve responds in awe.

“Cassie’s a book monster. Growing up she devoured book after book after book,” he explains. “This used to be the dining room. I had it renovated when she was about six—at that time her room already had piles of books, and she didn’t want to give any of them away. A library was the only solution.” Tony smiles at the memory. “She would spend hours here, just curled up with a book. More often than not, she’d fall asleep—on the sofa, the armchair, even the floor, and I’d have to carry her back to her room.”

Steve turns to him and sees a wistful expression on Tony’s face. He’s bewildered at this side of Tony, one that he never knew existed. Hell, he hadn’t even known that Tony had a goddaughter until today. “She grew up here?”

“Her mother left her and her father when she was three,” Tony says carefully. “And then her father died two years later. I took her in.”

 _He raised her,_ Steve thinks, utterly dumbfounded. _Tony is, for all intents and purposes, a father._

“In many ways she is more than just my goddaughter,” Tony whispers, as if reading Steve’s mind. “Come on, I’ll show you the most exciting part of the house.”

Tony brings him to the basement, where he inputs a code and presents his fingerprints. The door opens, the lights turn on, and Steve can hardly believe what he is seeing. Metal tables line the wide basement space, almost all of them covered with tools and machines that Steve had never seen before in his life. He can hear whirring and buzzing, almost as if the whole room had come to life the moment he and Tony set foot in it. Tony is grinning ear to ear, and it’s clear to Steve that this is Tony’s sacred space. _This_ is the world that he was born into, and it doesn’t seem like he ever truly left it.

Steve can’t help but feel so terribly blessed to be in a room that he can only describe as magical.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Tony says proudly. “I didn’t graduate with an engineering degree, but I still tinker here and there.”

Two machines wheel towards them—both looking very much like robotic arms—and start poking Steve.

“Jesus Christ.” Tony swats them away. “Come on guys, stop accosting the man, for the love of god Dum-E, Butterfingers, return to your charging pods—wait, are you petting them?”

Steve laughs. “They’re cute.”

“Steve, they’re _robotic arms_ ,” Tony says, with full emphasis on the last two words.

Steve grins, wide and bright. “Glad to hear you say my name again.”

Tony is caught completely off guard with that. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it immediately and decides to occupy himself with his errant bots.

“I came here to apologize, you know,” Steve blurts out. “I’d wanted to for weeks, but it had to take the DOJ completely excluding my office from the Pierce case to realize why I was wrong.”

Tony bows his head, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “I’m not completely faultless in this.”

“I appreciate you saying that. But I should have listened to you. I should have believed you, and most importantly I should have trusted you.” Steve’s tone is soft yet firm, clearly trying to sound as genuine and as certain as possible. “And I shouldn’t have pushed you too hard.”

“I had my reasons, Steve,” Tony says quietly.

“I know that now.”

Tony sighs, trying to put his words together. “I don’t appreciate being strong-armed and manipulated like that. I know I have a reputation of doing the very same in the Capitol, but I have never done that to you, and I would never.” He sighs, visibly tired of the mess they’re in. “Can we just…agree to trust each other from now on?”

Steve extends his hand. “I’d like that.”

Tony looks at Steve’s outstretched hand for a moment, hesitant. He takes a deep breath and accepts, looking right at the President. Steve feels relieved, grateful, and glad all at once. But above all, it feels right.

_Tony feels right._

He withdraws his hand before that thought swallows him like a tidal wave—like it has many times before—and chooses instead to focus his attention on Tony’s various inventions.

“So, can you show me how these things work?” he asks Tony, pointing at a pile of contraptions on one of his workbenches.

“Uh, sure, but that’s not even remotely the coolest thing in this room. Here, catch.” Tony tosses a small slab of rectangular glass at him, edges made blunt by a thick, red rubber framing.

Steve inspects the item, slightly confused. “What’s thi—oh my god.” The gadget lights up. “Tony, is this a phone?”

Tony grins. “Yeah! Pretty cool, right?”

“Cool? It’s amazing,” Steve says in awe. “Are you looking to sell these?”

“Not really. I just make them for my team. It gives us more security— encrypted e-mails, instant messaging, that sort of thing.” Tony takes the phone and hands him a bigger variety. “Here’s the tablet version.”

Steve gapes as he inspects it. “My god, Tony, this is amazing.”

“It’s patented and everything,” Tony quips. “But that’s not even the coolest thing. JARVIS?”

“Sir?”

Steve jumps and frantically looks around. “What the heck?”

Tony stifles a laugh. “Don’t worry, everyone reacts the same way when they first meet him. Steve, meet JARVIS, my AI. He runs the house, and my whole life basically. JARVIS, say hi.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. President.”

“It’s an honor…to meet you…too?” Steve replies to the ceiling, perplexed. “Tony, is JARVIS an _actual_ artificial intelligence?”

“That’s what AI means, Steve,” Tony says with a chuckle. “Started coding him when I was still at MIT. Took about twenty years and nearly a million lines of code, but I made it happen.”

“Tony…” Steve looks around the room, utterly mystified. Tony had always been an enigma. Even after more than two decades in politics, he had always been seen as the most public yet extremely private government official—he was everywhere, and everyone knew him. But only those lucky enough to be invited into his life truly _knew_ him, and Steve knows that _this_ —being in this room, Tony’s place of worship—is the invitation he hadn’t known he had wanted.

“This is incredible,” he finally manages to say. “You’re incredible.”

Tony blinks, as if processing what Steve had just said. “I’m just a guy who likes to tinker,” he replies slowly.

“I don’t think ‘like’ is a proper—“ Something catches Steve’s eye.

It’s Tony’s unfinished project, sitting almost inconspicuously on the main workbench. Steve is drawn to it immediately, and walks closer to take a better look at the device that somehow feels oddly familiar to him, like he’d seen it somewhere before.

“What is this?” he asks Tony carefully.

Tony rubs the back of his neck, a little hesitant. “It’s an old project. I’m trying to miniaturize a theoretical design that could potentially produce unlimited clean energy. This is just the skeleton frame of the arc reactor.”

“Arc reactor…” Steve murmurs, tracing the linings of the device cautiously with his fingers. “Why the need to miniaturize?”

“A reactor this small could be enough to power a whole house, a big one at that. You wouldn’t need power plants to electrify cities anymore, or an electric grid for that matter. You’d just need the arc reactor at various sizes, depending on what it’s going to power.”

“But this is all theoretical?” Steve asks.

“For now. Give me a couple of years, maybe. Having a full time job doesn’t give me enough time for my hobbies,” Tony jokes.

“Well if you do figure it out while I’m still president, let me know so I can get the DOE right on it.”

Tony laughs. “Sure, Steve.”

Steve tucks a mental image of the arc reactor in his head so he can sketch it later. He _knows_ he’s seen it somewhere before—maybe in a briefing document, or a photo from the DOD?—and his subconscious will keep bugging him about it until he figures out where he first encountered it.

“I think I’ve overstayed my welcome here,” Steve says finally. “I should head back to the White House.”

“You’re always welcome here, Steve,” Tony tells him, his smile warm and affectionate. “Are you not spending Thanksgiving in New Hampshire?”

Steve shakes his head. “I…have no one left in New Hampshire.”

“I’m so sorry, Steve, I didn’t mean to—“

Steve holds his hand up. “It’s alright Tony.”

“Well, you’re invited to come celebrate with us,” Tony offers tentatively, trying to salvage the moment. “It’s just me and Cassie, and we’ve got a huge turkey.”

Steve is clearly taken aback by the invitation. “Wow, that’s…that’s very thoughtful of you.”

“I’m serious. I’ll be having turkey sandwich for a month if I don’t get more people to eat the goddamn turkey.”

“I would honestly love to, Tony,” Steve says. “But I don’t think the Secret Service would be thrilled with the idea of me spending an evening outside of the residence.” Then he brightens up, as if he’d just had a eureka moment. “Why don’t you and Cassie spend Thanksgiving in the White House?”

“What?”

Steve’s smile widens. “You could come early in the afternoon, bring all your stuff, and we could cook in the kitchen.”

“We?”

“What kind of Thanksgiving would it be if not everyone lent a helping hand, right?” Steve’s tone is excitedly hopeful about the idea.

Tony shrugs, a little reluctant. “I don’t have a problem with it, but I should probably ask Cassie first.”

Steve is positively beaming.

“Hey, Stinger!” An image of Cassie in the kitchen, typing away into her laptop, is projected in the air right in front of Tony and Steve.

Steve jumps a step back, startled. “Holy crap.”

“It takes some getting used to,” Tony comments, trying hard not to laugh.

“Understatement of the century,” Steve mutters under his breath, the technology clearly overwhelming him.

“What’s up, Uncle Tones?” Cassie asks, not taking her eyes off her laptop.

“On a scale of Natasha’s heart to Kate’s Star Wars collection, what’s your temperature on the idea of having Thanksgiving dinner at the White House?”

Cassie’s typing stops abruptly, and she turns to Steve and her uncle. “Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me.”

“Hey kiddo, language. And no, not kidding. Steve thought we’d grace the White House with our fabulous presence tomorrow.”

Cassie breaks into an animated smile. “Yes. Definitely. I’m in, I’m so in.”

“Got the message, Cass,” Tony says with a laugh. He turns to Steve. “Well, you heard the lady.”

Steve is overjoyed. “Wonderful! I’ll have a car pick you up around two o’clock, is that alright?”

Tony nods. “Sure.”

“Perfect, Mr. President!” Cassie adds exuberantly. “Uncle Tony and I make a mean Thanksgiving turkey. You are going to see stars tomorrow, I promise you.”

He doesn't tell Tony and Cassie that he'd already been seeing stars the moment he stepped foot in the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T YOU JUST LOVE CASSIE!!!!


	12. Full House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a while! Sorry 'bout that. But I promised you some nice things, so here are the nice things :D
> 
> This is around 3000 words more than my usual word count because there's just so much going on. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> As always, comments give me life and help me write, so please do drop a word!

_Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_  
_Thanksgiving Day 2012_

It’s been total chaos in the Lewis household. It reminds Clint of his own family, but their chaos was more of the violent, slightly criminal kind. He had a tough environment growing up—his parents were in and out of jail constantly, and his brother Barney had a lot of enemies. When he was old enough to understand what was happening around him, he knew that there was something more than the life that he was born into, and started to distance himself from his family’s shenanigans.

He wasn’t exactly a good kid—he got into trouble once in a while—but he kept to himself most of the time and made it a point to do well in school. He did well enough to get into a state school with a full ride, and later Columbia Law, where he was finally able to make his own decisions and take complete charge of his own life. But that meant slowly cutting ties with his family and pushing his past as far down a deep, black hole of forgetting as he possibly could.

The path he’d taken had made him more successful than he could possibly dream of—hell, who would have thought that the skinny, quiet Barton kid who used to get pushed around by his older brother would end up representing the State of New York in the Senate? Certainly not him, whose dream then was just to graduate with a degree, get a good job, and live an honest life. And certainly not his family, who thought that he would end up just like them, petty criminals meeting the bare minimum to survive.

He doesn’t miss his family, not by a long shot, but watching Henry and Anne Lewis these past two days fret about the whole house to give their guests a Thanksgiving dinner deserving of royalty makes him ache for the kind of familial support system he never had growing up.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help, Mrs. Lewis?” Clint asks her. It’s just him and Anne this afternoon, as Henry, Darcy, and Kate had gone into town an hour earlier to run some errands.

She waves him off, other hand expertly preparing the turkey stuffing. “Please, Senator Barton, you’re our guest. This is the least I could do after all that you’ve done for our daughter.”

“Call me Clint, Mrs. Lewis. I left Senator Barton in the Capitol,” he responds with a fond smile.

She returns the smile, warm and affectionate. “I’ll only call you Clint if you call me Anne,” she bargains.

Clint nods, beaming. “Deal.”

He stands there for a bit as Anne putters about in the kitchen, not knowing what to do. With the girls and Darcy’s father out buying last-minute provisions at the store, it’s just Clint and Anne. He’s not used to standing by while people around him do all the work—that’s just not how he’s built.

“You’re not close with your family, Clint?” Anne asks after a long pause. Clint almost breathes a sigh of relief for the conversation.

“Not very much, no. I had a…pretty tough childhood.” 

“Darcy’s told us about that much. She admires you a lot, you know.”

Clint doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

“Our Darcy has always loved the underdogs,” Anne continues. “Maybe because she was an underdog herself. She had always been different, growing up. Always had big dreams that no one could understand, so no one except me and Henry believed that she could reach them.”

Clint chuckles. “Darcy’s never been your typical anything.” 

“Fit right in your little circle, that one.”

“People think we’re all that, but we’re really just a bunch of misfits,” Clint adds with a little humor. 

Anne laughs heartily. “Well, misfits running this country has certainly been doing it some good.”

He’s startled by her genuine praise—something that doesn’t come often from ordinary citizens in his line of work. “That’s—“ Clint swallows, his throat betraying him. “I really appreciate that, Anne, truly.”

“My daughter picks good people. Always have,” she explains gently. “And she has a particular knack for picking the best ones. Glad to know some things never change.” 

Clint, overwhelmed by her honest approbation, doesn’t quite know how to answer that. He’s not used to sincere candor. It’s unforgiving, this world of his—cutthroat, vindictive, even merciless—but extremely fulfilling when met with the sort of authentic approval given by the likes of Anne Lewis.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he finally says to her.

“Take that lovely Kate Bishop, for example,” Anne continues, her tone fond and excited. “What a wonderful girl. Darcy absolutely adores her.”

Clint nods in agreement. “They’re definitely a pair, those two. They’re invaluable on their own, but together they’re unstoppable. Tony and I wouldn’t be able to get anything done without them.”

“That sounds just like my Darcy,” Anne says proudly. Then, “You think they’re serious?” she probes cautiously. 

Clint shifts, unsure about how to respond. It’s not that he knows where Darcy and Kate are at this point in their relationship, but more that he wants to protect his assistant’s privacy and let her decide what to tell her parents and when. He thinks on it for a moment. “I’ve been in this business for a long time, and I’m not the best person to talk about relationships, believe me,” he tells her in a self-deprecating tone. “But those two? They’re the real deal. If they work hard enough, they’ll make it through the worst of it.”

Anne slides the fifteen-pound turkey into the oven like a pro, takes off the oven mitts and wipes her hands on the dish cloth on top of the counter. She then heads over to Clint and pats his cheek in a knowing, motherly manner. “You didn’t answer my question, dear. But I’ll let it pass.” She pauses and gives him an amused smile. “You and Darcy are certainly two peas in a pod.”

Clint chuckles, a little embarrassed that Anne had caught on his use of the typical politician tactic of diversion. He shrugs, an abashed smile on his face. “Like assistant, like boss.”

Just then, car pulls up the driveway and Anne brightens up. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Anne and Clint watch as Henry gets out of the car with Darcy and Kate, all three of them bringing what Clint assumes are more food items to be consumed for Thanksgiving dinner. All three are laughing through their conversation, and, despite being an agnostic, Clint can’t help but say a little prayer of thanks for the privilege to experience this kind of warmth during a holiday that more often than not he had always been indifferent to.

To be able to share this with Kate who, while having been born into the lap of luxury, had grown up nearly the same way as him—the only difference being her experience of violence was more emotional than physical—is a gift that he does not dare take for granted. When he met Kate all those years ago, he saw the same quiet determination in her eyes that he had growing up. She was trapped, just as he was. When he offered her an out, she took it, and bore the sacrifice of her choice with the same spunk and stubbornness that Clint had.

It was hard. It was hard for Clint when he had distanced himself from his family and slowly cut ties with the people who had barely raised him. It was hard for Kate when her family had disowned her and left her to fend for herself. It was harder than anything that they had ever done in their entire lives. But watching her like this—happy, at home, and welcomed unconditionally by people not of her blood—cemented the fact that everything they had been through to get to this very moment had been worth it.

“Hey!” Darcy greets as they enter the house. “Guess what the Davidsons had for us this Thanksgiving?”

Anne groans. “Please tell me it’s not their rock-hard banana bread again.”

Henry holds out the rectangular box to show them, dramatically taking off the lid. “Ta-da!” he and Darcy exclaim. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Anne says, clearly disappointed. “I make them a wonderful chiffon cake and they give me a store-bought fruit cake? Tell me, why do we continue with this goddamn tradition?”

Kate and Darcy try to muffle their laugh. Clint is confused, while Henry is entirely serious. “What shall we do with it then?”

Anne rolls her eyes and sighs. “Put it in my compost pile, I’ll try to make it into fertilizer.”

Henry nods and does as he’s told. “I’ll set the table once I’m done with this,” he volunteers as he exits towards the garden.

“As for you two,” she says to Kate and Darcy. “Put those away and help me clean up the kitchen. Clint, please help Henry set the table. Once we’re done, we can all relax in the living room until the evening.”

As they mill about preparing for the big dinner, Clint marvels at how easily they fit into Darcy’s Puente Antiguo life. Kate banters with Anne and Henry effortlessly, and they in turn do not hesitate to dote on their daughter’s paramour. They laugh so freely—something Clint hasn’t seen his best friend do for a while now.

For all the years he spent worrying about Kate, about doing right by her, at least now he can see with his own two eyes that she’s found a place with a family that loves her, and deserves her love. And he finds that he has a place in that family, too.

Clint is still reeling from Natasha—that won’t go away anytime soon, and he’ll have to face his feelings in the very near future. But at the very least, he and Kate are okay. They’re safe in the warmest, most intimate sense of the word. That’s definitely something to be thankful for.

//

 _Columbus, Ohio_  
_Thanksgiving Day 2012_

He saw her fall and caught her just before her head could hit the ground.

She was preparing Thanksgiving dinner with his mother, bright and laughing at the stories Frigga was telling her. He, on the other hand, was rearranging the living and dining rooms with his cousins in such a way that their already spacious common rooms could accommodate their extremely big extended family, which was due to arrive sometime later in the evening. The atmosphere in the house was much, much calmer than earlier that day.

That morning, while the entire household was waking up, Loki had barged in the Odinson residence unannounced, prompting a very tense verbal exchange between him and Thor that could have easily turned violent.

“I thought Thanksgiving was a time for family, Thor,” Loki had said, his words dripping with disdain for his older brother. “Why am I suddenly being turned away by the people who claim to love me?"

“For gods’ sake, Loki. You Are being asked to _explain your behavior,_ not being turned away!” Thor had an unreadable expression, one filled with so much anger, frustration, and something else—something thoroughly gloomy. “And you dare talk about family? Family is supposed to be there for each other in times of great need.” His eyes had darkened then, and he had said to Loki in the most accusatory tone, “If this is your family, then where the hell were you when father was sick? Where were you when he died?”

Loki had given his brother a hard, defiant, and sinister look. “Father was dead to me long before his body expired, _brother,_ ” he had spat out, which had angered Thor even more. “And I was dead to him long before God decided to punish his cruelty with cancer.”

Only Jane’s and Frigga’s interference had stopped the brothers from escalating their verbal sparring into a full-blown physical altercation. The Odinson matriarch was visibly upset after Loki had stormed out of the house—she had prayed for Loki to join them for Thanksgiving, and was very vocal about her desire to have both her sons in the house so that she could cajole a truce out of them. Thor, despite wanting to reconnect with his brother, was skeptical about this from the beginning, but Jane had warned him against airing out his concerns to Frigga during the holidays. After Loki had caused an uproar in the house and had stormed out, Thor hadn’t had the heart to tell his mother _I told you so_. 

Jane had kept the peace the rest of the morning, subtly enlisting the help of his cousins Sif, Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg to lighten the mood. Eventually, she had managed to coax Frigga out of the funk that her sons had put her in, and the house became a bustling center of activity filled with laughter again, with everyone preparing for the big Thanksgiving dinner with smiles on their faces.

But that was until her laugh ended abruptly in the middle of Frigga’s story. “Jane?” his mother called out suddenly, worry evident in her voice. Thor turned to watch just as Jane crumpled to the ground, and caught her head just in time.

They dropped everything and rushed her to the hospital. She was unresponsive, but breathing the whole drive, and Thor was beside himself. It was Frigga’s turn to console her son, holding his hand after Jane had disappeared behind the curtains with the doctors and nurses. Sif stepped up and took charge of making sure that the Thanksgiving dinner would be cooked, and that the rest of the Odinson clan, who were sure to arrive in the house very soon, would be informed and entertained.

Waiting for any updates from the doctors was hell for Thor. He was always an optimistic and jolly person growing up, something that carried over even into the charged and stressful halls of the United States Senate, but he never did heartache and the agony of seeing his loved ones in pain particularly well. He barely kept his sanity intact when his father was sick. What more if Jane…?

Now he sits in a private room where they have placed Jane, his hands above hers. Frigga is outside the room discussing Jane’s accommodations with the nurses, leaving Thor to the torment of his own thoughts.

Jane is his everything—his solid foundation, his rock, his guiding light. When they met almost fifteen years ago, it was love at first sight for him. She, on the other hand, needed more convincing. Back then, she was a young and promising PhD student in Culver University, and he was an aimless, rather pompous son of a rich businessman riding the powerful and wealthy coattails of his father. Jane wasn’t exactly impressed.

Naturally, they argued on their first meeting. Odin had dragged Thor to Culver University with him, and he sat front row to watch his dad give a talk on business ethics. He was bored out of his mind—he had heard all of this from his father before—until a female voice from the center of the auditorium interrupted the discussion on corporate social responsibility.

“Excuse me?” Jane called out. The whole auditorium turned to her. “Was it corporate social responsibility when you bought the land beneath a homeless shelter in Brooklyn and built an apartment building on it without so much as thinking about where all those people would go?”

The facilitator for the discussion, flustered, tried to salvage the situation. “Well, the question and answer portion isn’t until a little later, but I guess we can entertain this young lady’s queries. Can I have your name, please?”

“Jane Foster, a PhD student from the Astrophysics department. Three years ago, Asgard Realty bought an expanse of land in Brooklyn, a part of which had a homeless shelter on top of it. That shelter housed and fed more than five hundred homeless people daily. When the deal closed, so did the shelter. There was no effort from your company to relocate the shelter or to find an alternative so the organization that ran the shelter could continue to serve all those people.” Her words were sharp, and were said without any hesitation or fear whatsoever. They were directed straight at Odin whose brows were furrowed, a look Thor knew very well: displeased at being confronted.

Thor was not only amused—he was also intrigued. A regular person (and a woman at that) challenging his father, the self-made real estate mogul, to answer for his crimes in front of all these people? He sat back, smirked, and thought, _this is going to be fun._

The facilitator coughed. “Astrophysics is a long way from business ethics.”

Jane looked at him straight in the eye. “It’s not a long way when the top one percent—that’s you, Mr. Odinson—continues to exploit the bottom 99 percent—that’s all those homeless people, in case you didn’t know—to enrich themselves.”

Thor took a glance at his father and there it was, that tick in Odin’s jaw. It meant that his father was very close to saying words he would regret later, and Thor knew that in order to keep this confrontation from becoming a PR nightmare for the company, he would have to take the bullet.

Thor jumped right in, just as his father was about to open his mouth. “And what would you have the company do, Miss Foster?” The whole auditorium then turned to look at him. He buttoned his suit jacket and put on a dazzling smile. “Thor Odinson. Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all yours,” Jane answered back coolly.

He laughed at that. “I’m serious, Miss Foster. The land was bought by Asgard Realty legally, and all other transactions were above board. All occupants and tenants were given due notice. As far as the company is concerned, it had fulfilled all its legal duties,” Thor responded diplomatically as a playful smile hovered on his lips. “So what, may I ask, would you have had the company do?” 

“For starters, how about you do what’s right?” Jane retaliated. “That homeless shelter couldn’t find another warehouse to lease despite looking everywhere because since the owner of the warehouse you bought was leasing his property to the homeless shelter for a pittance, anywhere else was too expensive. Asgard Realty did _nothing_ to help the homeless shelter get back on its feet. And this isn’t the first time your company has done this. May I remind you about the halfway house in Atlanta, or the LGBT help center in Miami? You sit there and talk about social responsibility—well, social responsibility isn’t about doing what’s legal, Messrs. Odinson, it’s about doing what’s right.”

It was at that moment that his father stepped in, now more composed than he was when Jane first interrupted him. He skirted around the issue, naturally, spewing some vague rhetoric on balancing business and social interests, which Thor was sure didn’t really satisfy the feisty young woman. But she had made her point, and in turn had earned his and the audience’s respect.

He sought her out after the talk, but couldn’t find her amongst the crowd pouring out of the auditorium. He thought about her the entire duration of the cocktail party the university threw for his dad. He hardly listened to his father berating him over intervening at the talk—his mind was too engrossed in the ballsy Astrophysics fellow to care about whatever his father was mad about.

So when about a month later he broke the news that he was attending graduate school at Culver University in the coming semester, everyone, including his father, was surprised. He didn’t mention his burning desire to see Jane again, of course, but they bought his sudden interest in public policy hook, line and sinker—even if the real reason he chose public policy was because he thought it would impress Jane, and that it would be the easiest program to finish.

He was completely wrong on both accounts. Public policy was nowhere near easy, and Jane was most definitely not impressed that he was at Culver.

It took him an entire semester to get the hang of graduate school. Thor had to do a lot of introspection that first year—he changed his attitude about certain things, did his best not to be arrogant, and started really listening to the people around him. It did him well, because by the end of his two-year program, he had fallen in love with public policy and decided to work in the public sector after finishing his degree, much to his father’s forceful and vocal disapproval.

Jane, however, was a much longer story—it took Thor an entire year to get her to see past the proud, self-absorbed heir-presumptive to Asgard Realty that she thought he was (and she may have been right for a bit there). He befriended Erik Selvig, her mentor and adviser, whose company he found that he thoroughly enjoyed. He showed a genuine interest in her causes by attending fundraisers, dialogues, and protests. They became friends in his second year, and it wasn’t until his final semester that she finally agreed to go on a date with him.

That was when Thor started believing in destiny. He went to Culver to woo a plucky young woman who wasn’t afraid to stand up to big people. He came out of what was a haughty man’s folly as a new man with an authentic calling to serve, and a companion who truly believed in him.

And the rest, they say, is history.

“I had some flowers delivered to spruce the room up,” Frigga says as she comes back into the room, breaking Thor’s trip down memory lane. “And Sif called, said she had one of Valkyrie’s daughters bring some of Jane’s things. She’ll be here in about half an hour.”

Thor gives her a tired yet grateful smile. “Thank you, mother. I honestly would not know what to do without you.”

“Anything for you and Jane, my darling.”

At that moment, Jane’s fingers start to fidget, prompting Thor to get up on his feet. “Jane? My love, can you hear me?” Her eyes open slowly. “Jane?” Thor calls out softly. He turns to Frigga. “Mother, can you call the doctor please?”

“Of course,” and she heads out.

“Thor?” Jane says groggily, her voice hoarse. “Where am I?”

“Oh, thank God.” Thor kisses her forehead. “My darling, you’re in the hospital. You fainted this afternoon while you were preparing dinner in the kitchen with mother.”

“How long was I out?”

“About five hours. You certainly gave me a fright.”

She chuckles. “Have to keep things interesting so you don’t replace me for a newer model.”

Thor smiles. “I would never dream of it.”

The doctor then enters the room with Frigga. “Good to see you finally awake, Mrs. Odinson!”

“Oh, it’s Foster,” Thor corrects him.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s still Jane Foster. We’re married but she opted not to change her surname.”

“My apologies for the error, Mr. Odinson, Miss Foster.”

Jane shakes her head and smiles at him. “Don’t worry about it, doctor, happens to the best of us.” 

“I assume you’ve figured out why my wife fainted earlier this afternoon?” Thor asks him, straight to the point.

“Yes, well. All the tests came out negative, which is good, so we’ve ruled out anything serious. I’ve consulted with the resident OB on duty, and she agrees with me that it’s fatigue associated with your first trimester,” the doctor informs them calmly.

“I’m sorry, my first trimester?” Jane repeats. “But I’m not pregnant.”

“Yes, you are, Miss Foster,” the doctor says slowly. “You’re one month pregnant.”

It takes Thor and Jane a minute to comprehend what the doctor just said. “How can this be? We’ve been trying for a decade with no such luck.”

“It’s not an anomaly, but it is unusual. I assume you’ve gone to specialists and had all the tests done with everything coming out normal?”

Thor nods. “We’re both perfectly healthy and there is nothing wrong biologically that should be hindering us from having a baby.”

The doctor nods. “That explains a lot, actually. Mrs. Odinson said you were preparing for Thanksgiving dinner when you fainted—this is your body adjusting to the pregnancy, and since you weren’t expecting to have children, it clearly was not ready for the life you’re already accommodating. Thus, the fainting.”

“What’s your recommendation?” Jane asks, still in disbelief.

The doctor looks at his clipboard and scribbles on the pages. “I’d like to keep you here for observation until tomorrow. Your OBGYN will have much more detailed instructions for you, but until you’re able to see him or her, I suggest bed rest and no physical activity. If you don’t have anymore questions, then please excuse me.” Then he takes his leave.

The room is quiet and still, with none of them able to grasp just how momentous the doctor’s news is. Thor grips his wife hand like a lifeline; Jane has a palm over her stomach, an incredulous look on her face; Frigga is hiding a silent scream behind her hand. No one dares to move nor talk, for fear of waking up and finding that this is all just a dream. 

Finally, Jane turns to her husband and whispers, her voice cracking from absolute joy, “Thor, we’re having a baby.”

Thor takes her in his arms, tears streaming down his face. “Oh, my darling.” He cups her face and looks at her with all the love he can muster. “My love, we’re going to have a baby.”

In between tears and kisses, the room erupts into laughter, exuberance, and gratefulness for the wonderful and unexpected blessing they have received.

//

 _Washington DC_  
_Thanksgiving Day 2012_

“Do we have everything?”

Cassie and Tony are loading the last of the food and kitchenware into the black SUV that Steve had sent over to pick them up. Tony had packed up everything they needed—and then some—with an almost militaristic precision earlier that morning, much to his goddaughter’s chagrin. 

Cassie rolls her eyes and taps her foot on the ground, impatient. “Uncle Tony, you’ve checked, double-checked, and _triple_ -checked everything. We’re going to the White House, where I’m sure the kitchens are stocked to high heavens with anything and everything you can think of. We have everything. We’ll be fine.”

Tony gestures to the inside of the house. “But what if we—“

Cassie groans and pulls him back. “No, Uncle Tony! Get in the damn car so we can go and we can finally start cooking. I was taught better than to keep the President of the United States waiting.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “By who?”

“The ghost of my father,” Cassie responds, deadpan.

Tony smirks as he gets in the car with Cassie. “Right. Thank you, Scott, for teaching my goddaughter good manners from the afterlife.”

“Are you ready to go, sir?” the Secret Service agent, Billy, asks from the front seat.

Tony sighs and nods. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The ride to the White House is quiet, with only Tony’s tapping for ambient music. Cassie slaps his knee in irritation. “Could you stop that? You’re annoying the hell out of me.” 

“Really, Cassie, you should stop swearing like a trucker,” Tony scolds with no gusto whatsoever.

“I’m a Stark, what do you expect? Besides, why are you so nervous anyway? It’s not as if you’re meeting the President for the first time.”

Tony looks at her with feigned indignation. “Oh, so _now_ you’re a Stark?” 

“Shut up,” she teases, hitting his arm playfully. “We’ve done this dinner a hundred times. If you’re worried you’re going to give the President food poisoning, you’re not.”

“Can you not say poison and President in the same sentence around Secret Service agents? I don’t want to see you being carted off to federal prison for threatening to kill the leader of the free world.”

She raises her arms halfway in mock surrender. “Sorry, my bad. You’re not going to tell your boss, are you Billy?” Cassie asks their escort.

“You’ve not yet given us probable cause to deem you as a threat to the President, ma’am. So you’re off the hook for now.”

Cassie smiles at her uncle. “Told you.”

“Please don’t encourage her,” Tony tells him with a groan. “Besides, technically we’ve only done this dinner eleven times. Did you really get 2300 on your SATs, or did you pay someone to take it for you?”

Cassie gives him a shocked look. “You did not just go there.”

“Go where?”

“You did not just invoke my SAT scores when you know how much anxiety that stupid test gave me for a year.”

“Well, you started playing dirty, so what was I supposed to do, roll over and play dead?”

“Oh my god. Billy, when you write the report for this little trip of ours, please make sure to mention that _I_ was the adult in this whole conversation, as opposed to the duly elected member of Congress sitting beside me—who is, by the way, the Speaker of the House of Representatives and the de-facto leader of the Democratic Party.”

“Oh look, we’re here,” Tony says in a sing-song voice, completely disengaging himself from the clutches of his goddaughter’s tête-à-tête, as they pull up in front of the driveway of the Executive Residence.

They’re met by the White House Chief Usher, a portly old man with a bright smile on his face, along with two more members of the household staff. “Good afternoon Mr. Speaker, Miss Lang,” he greets them as Cassie and Tony get down from the car. “I am Stan, the Chief Usher. I’ve been instructed by the President to accompany you to his sitting room where we’ve laid out some refreshments while you wait. He’s currently in the West Wing finishing up a few things and will be with you shortly. May I take your coats?”

“How come I didn’t have this service when I came here during the shutdown?”

“Clearly they’re here for me, Uncle Tones.”

“Ignore her,” he says to Stan as he hands the Chief Usher his coat. “We brought a few things for dinner…”

Stan gives him a curt nod. “Yes, the President informed us that you will be preparing Thanksgiving dinner with him. We will be happy to bring those up to the President’s private kitchen and set it up for you.” He signals to the staff behind him and they start unloading the car. Stan extends his arm towards the inside of the Residence. “If you’ll follow me?”

There’s a spread of sweets, pastries and drinks laid out in Steve’s sitting room, and Cassie practically flies towards the chocolates. “Oooh, heaven is a place on earth,” she sings as she takes a piece of Turkish Delight from the tray. She spots Tony, comfortably seated on one of the couches, scanning his phone. “Don’t you want anything?”

“We’ll be cooking and tasting stuff the whole afternoon. I don’t want to ruin my appetite,” Tony replies coolly, not taking his eyes off his phone.

Cassie shrugs. “Suit yourself. More for me.” 

“You’re going to ruin your appetite,” Tony tells her.

Cassie sniggers. “No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will,” Tony insists.

“No, I won’t,” Cassie maintains.

“Cassie, I raised you since you were five. When I say you’re going to ruin your appetite, I know from experience that you’re definitely going to ruin your appetite,” Tony contends, his tone casual.

“Want to bet on it?” she challenges, eyebrows raised mischievously.

Tony puts down his phone and turns to her with a roguish smile. “What are we betting on?”

Cassie thinks on it for a minute. “If I win, I get to pick where we spend New Year’s.”

“And if I win, you stay at home for Spring Break.”

Cassie scrunches her face, displeased. “Fine.” She extends her hand. “Let’s shake on it.” And Tony accepts gladly.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Steve suddenly says as he enters the room. 

Cassie beams at him. “We were just betting on my capacity for food intake.” 

Steve laughs. “I’m not sure about the legalities of gambling inside the White House, but I guess we can let this one go for now.”

“First Billy the Secret Service agent, now the President of the United States. I would like it if people in authority positions stopped encouraging my goddaughter’s mischief,” Tony complains.

Steve turns to Cassie. “What’s wrong with him?” he asks jokingly.

“He was born,” Cassie teases, which earns an even bigger laugh from Steve.

“God, I can’t believe you two are ganging up on me. Should we use this time of reflection and giving thanks to stop verbally assaulting Tony Stark or do you both want to starve tonight?”

“You know we’re just teasing, Uncle Tones,” Cassie says as she gives him a side hug. “Come on, let’s head to the kitchen and show the President our amazing cooking skills.”

The household staff had immaculately laid out all their ingredients and cooking utensils in the small kitchen. Cassie reaches out to the racks to distribute aprons to Tony and Steve, and begins to work around the space like it was her own. Tony follows suit, and they begin preparing the ingredients like a well-oiled machine. Steve, being the newcomer, is delegated to vegetable duty, which gives him the opportunity to observe Tony and Cassie in a very intimate, familial sense.

They are extremely close, there is absolutely no doubt about that. Their movements are harmonious, and unlike many of the father-daughter relationships he has come to know over the years, Tony and Cassie’s is probably the closest, and most comfortable one he’s seen. They laugh at each other’s jokes, and share their lives so casually with one another—Cassie not hesitating to tell Tony the difficulties she’s had in Harvard, and Tony not even batting an eye when Cassie asks him about all the trouble in Congress. She clearly knows his team very well, and seems to be very close to them, given by the way she easily mentions their names. They make an effort to include Steve in their conversations too, for which he greatly appreciates.

It’s a window into Tony’s private world, the world that Steve, if he was being truly honest with himself, has been desperate to be allowed into. He can’t help but just watch them laugh and smile and make jokes while flawlessly maneuvering the kitchen to create what is looking to be a scrumptious Thanksgiving dinner. He’s grateful for this chance to be a part of their family, even just for an evening.

The hours fly by, and before Steve knows it, Tony is sliding the turkey into the oven. Cassie is about done putting the kitchenware away, and Steve is wiping the last of the dirty countertops. They all seem to be very proud of the work they’ve done.

“I must say, I mashed those potatoes excellently,” Steve tells them.

Cassie shrugs. “You were alright.”

Tony chuckles. “Coming from her, that’s a huge compliment.”

Steve smiles at her, clearly delighted. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“I’m just kidding. You did great, Mr. President.” They both high-five. “We make a fantastic team.”

“Is this the part where you take all the credit and completely forget about the person who did all the heavy lifting?” Tony asks them.

“Ignore him,” Cassie retorts playfully. 

“As President of the United States, I unfortunately can’t ignore the highest ranking member of the rival party,” Steve says with a grin. “But it’s Thanksgiving, so maybe we should stop teasing your godfather.”

Tony claps. “Ah, finally, some mercy.”

“Aw, no hard feelings, Uncle Tones, you know we love you.”

Steve looks at Tony with a warmth in his chest and thinks, _yeah, we do._

That thought shocks him into paralysis for a second. His attraction to Tony is something that he has already come to terms with, but for this attraction to be something more? That’s not something he can just sweep under the rug, not when they’ve been working so closely together, and most definitely not when he’s just starting to get to know the most important person in Tony’s life. But having been allowed to see who Tony truly is behind the curtain, and now being given the privilege to watch him love freely and be affectionate towards his goddaughter makes Steve all the more drawn to this man in front of him—makes Steve want to be an intimate part of his life even more. 

He coughs, as if to forcefully expel that bit of introspection from his mind. “So, what’s the story?” Steve asks, trying to change the subject.

Tony tilts his head, a little confused. “What do you mean?" 

“It’s not every day that a man and his goddaughter make the perfect Thanksgiving dinner. There must be a story behind that.”

Tony takes a peek at Cassie, an impish smile ghosting on his lips. “Do you want to tell him?”

Cassie raises an eyebrow. “I’ll let you tell this one, Uncle Tones, so you get the chance to paint me as the villain for once.”

“Ah, well, in this case, you _are_ the villain of the story.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night, Uncle Tones.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” he begins, turning back to an amused Steve, clearly enjoying the banter between the two. “Cassie was about seven when she realized that I wasn’t a fit guardian and asked why she never had real turkey during Thanksgiving. So that year I decided that we’d have an actual Thanksgiving dinner by learning how to cook a turkey.”

“But that was _if_ I learned with him,” Cassie interjects.

“Hey, don’t be a smart ass. You learned how to cook that year, be grateful.”

“ _You_ also learned how to cook that year, so we’re at an impasse,” she retorts.

Steve takes a look at Tony, then at Cassie, and then back at Tony. “So, you both taught yourselves how to cook a turkey?”

“Yes we did, and boy was _that_ a major operation,” Cassie answers with a groan, remembering that year. “He totally math-ed the whole thing.”

“What…does that mean,” Steve asks, confused.

Tony raised a hand. “For the record, it worked, and we’ve been doing it ever since.”

“What does it mean that you ‘math-ed’ it?” Steve asks again.

“There were papers strewn everywhere, formulas and numbers all over the place,” Cassie tells him, gesticulating enthusiastically to prove her point. “Half the kitchen was filled with math, the other half with the actual stuff we needed to make the dinner. It was complete chaos.”

“180, 170, 165,” Tony recites by heart.

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know what those numbers mean.”

“180 degrees in the thigh, 170 degrees in the breast, and 165 degrees in the stuffing—makes the perfect turkey. Not even you can deny that, Cass.”

Cassie shrugs. “Who said anything about denying it? I just meant that you were a huge nerd then, and still a huge nerd now.”

Tony mock-sighs. “My goddaughter, ladies and gentlemen.”

Steve bows his head, trying not to erupt in laughter. “Did anyone ever try to make the two of you into a reality TV show?”

“Ask Clint, he’s seriously tried to convince Tony about a million times. He wants the royalties,” Cassie says, finally breaking Steve’s resolve as he bursts into laughter.

The dinner goes exceedingly well, and the turkey is a hit, prompting more back and forth from Tony and Cassie. Steve finds all of this highly entertaining and enlightening, making him hope that one day, if he would ever have a daughter, his relationship with her would be just like Tony’s relationship with Cassie—open, candid, and unabashedly honest. It’s a pity that not a lot of people see this side of Tony, but Steve understands why Tony would like to keep this part of his life behind closed doors.

This whole experience with Tony and Cassie is a revelation to Steve. Family has always been at the front of center of his life, and with his two-tour stint in the US Army, brotherhood is not far from that tree either. But what Tony has shown him through the way he works and interacts with his team, and most especially through his relationship with Cassie, is something new—a family that, without legal, biological, or political inducements, chose to become a family. They continue choose to be loyal to each other and love each other every single day. Steve doesn’t think there could be anything more beautiful and honorable than that.

After dinner, he offers them the nickel tour of the Residence, and both gladly accept. To be fair, Steve doesn’t know much about the history of the Executive Residence—nor the White House for that matter—but he guides them through the Map Room, the China Room, and the Vermeil Room. They’re walking towards the library when suddenly Cassie’s phone rings, the sound echoing throughout the empty hall. 

Cassie looks at the screen and groans. “No,” she says with finality.

“Cassie,” Tony chides, “you’re going to have to talk to her sooner rather than later.” 

She frowns. “I don’t want to.”

“Am I allowed to ask who you’re talking about?” Steve asks carefully.

“It’s her mother.” Tony sighs. “Cassie, please, just talk to her. You completely ditched her to spend Thanksgiving with me. Just talk to her and then you can ignore her for another six months.”

“Fine,” she says curtly as she presses the button to answer the call.

“We’ll meet you in the library, okay? It’s just through that door,” Steve tells her gently.

Steve waits until they’re inside the library and out of earshot to ask, “Her mother left her and her father as a child, right?”

Tony nods solemnly. “Yes. Cassie’s never forgiven her, even when she reappeared about three years ago.”

“Do you know what happened there?” Steve continues, treading carefully.

“Post-partum depression, most likely. She couldn’t handle it, didn’t tell anyone, didn’t ask for treatment, so she left. I was already with the DNC then, but Scott begged me for help, so I hired a private investigator to find her in California, Nevada, Oregon—nothing. The whole thing took a toll on Scott so I would drive back and forth from Sacramento to Palo Alto every other day to make sure that Scott hadn’t set the house on fire. Turns out she spent about six years homeless, until a church in Phoenix, Arizona took her in and gave her a cleaning job,” Tony narrates, his voice a little restrained, as he skims through the row of books by his line of sight. 

“Phoenix is a long way off from Palo Alto,” Steve notes.

Tony shrugs. “Apparently, she just kept hitchhiking to the south, said she wanted to get to Mexico.”

“What made her decide to return to her daughter?”

Tony looks down at the book he took out of the shelf—it’s a hardcover of One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, incidentally one of his favorites. “That was the year I became the majority leader. Cassie has never come out for public appearances with me—I’ve never asked her to, and I’d like to keep it that way—but that was one time, aside from my election to become the Speaker of the House, that she wanted to be in the Capitol to see it in person. She stood in the sidelines but the camera panned to her face for a split second. Her mother saw a news report that featured that video and I guess just had a gut instinct that Cassie was her daughter.”

“She didn’t ask for custody when she showed up?”

Tony takes a deep breath. “I think she wanted to. She had already made a new life for herself in Phoenix, and I think she wanted to include her firstborn in that new life. But I guess she knew that Cassie didn’t want to go with her, and that I would fight for Cassie with everything I’ve got.”

Steve looks at him inquisitively, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the library. “Of course. She’s family.”

Tony gives him a sad smile. “When Scott died, he named me Cassie’s legal guardian. I adored her as a baby but I wasn’t…I didn’t know if I could raise her on my own. I was regularly going back and forth from Sacramento to DC, and despite having two houses in California and one house in the capital, I was essentially a nomad. But I had to do it for Scott. So, I asked to be transferred to DC, they gave me a job with communications as the liaison to the California office. In hindsight, I should've known there wouldn't be permanency in Cassie's life geography-wise. They asked me to be ED and then Chair of the California office later on, so I had to move us back to Sacramento. Then I was asked to run for Congress and won, so we had to transfer back to DC.” He pauses for a bit. Then softly, “I quit drinking for her, you know? Finally got the balls to do it after the lawyer came and said that I would be taking care of her. It was hell moving around and making sure she had as close a normal childhood as I could give her, but I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since I held her in my arms as her legal guardian. If raising a child won't get me to drink, nothing can.”

Steve crosses his arms, leans against the bookshelf and studies the man in front of him. “You’re a surprising man, Tony Stark.”

Tony tilts his head. “Why do you say that?”

“For all that the Republicans say about you…“ he steps closer, their faces less than a foot apart, “…that you’re a philanderer, a drunkard, a selfish bastard, a liar, and a traitor—“

Tony smirks. “That’s all they’ve got?”

“—you’re actually just a regular family man who wants to protect those that he loves.”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” Tony says with a chuckle. 

“That’s just it. I think people _haven’t_ been giving you the credit you deserve,” Steve tells him softly and honestly.

“Steve—“

And Steve kisses Tony.

He kisses Tony and it feels like a tsunami of emotions flooding inside him. Tony’s body is warm against him, and his lips are pliant and responsive. God, he’s wanted this so badly. It’s not just about the arousal of kissing someone, but that moment that you’ve finally found an equal in another person and just want to be with that person. For the past few months, Tony has challenged him in so many ways, and today, seeing him love someone else’s daughter as fiercely as if she was his own, has challenged him to become a man that deserves to be a part of that.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts, five seconds, five hours, maybe five million years, but it feels as though they could go on forever like this, kissing against the bookshelves, their literary heroes and heroines bearing witness to something new and beautiful and quite frankly, scary. Steve’s hands cup Tony’s face, and Tony’s hands grips Steve’s hips, neither of them wanting to let go.

Finally, they break away, their eyes locking—azure on steel blue. They’re both panting heavily, not quite sure what just happened or what to say, hands still on each other. 

“Steve…”

“…I’m sorry, I must have…startled you…”

Tony chuckles quietly. “You sure did.”

“I didn’t even ask…”

“It’s no problem, Steve. It’s really no problem." 

Steve swallows. “We have to…”

“Talk about this?”

Steve nods, laughing breathily. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, I just…”

“Stop apologizing,” Tony reassures him with a smile. “I’m going to ask you to let go now,” he continues slowly. “Cassie might be back any second and I want to be able to explain this to her without the shock factor of seeing us making out.”

Steve laughs again, and does as he’s told. “Of course, yes. You’re right.”

“Hey.” Tony gently lifts his chin. “This is not unwanted. Far from it, actually.”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m really happy to hear that.”

“We’ll figure it out later, okay?” Steve nods at that. “And in the meantime, maybe you should stop blushing. Cassie will see right through that.” That earns him an honest-to-goodness laugh.

Thankfully, Steve stops blushing about fifteen seconds before Cassie enters the library, looking annoyed but not entirely contrary. She flops down on one of the armchairs and complains about her mother in great detail, much to the relief of both Tony and Steve, still clearly reeling from what had happened against the bookshelves.

Back in Tony’s Georgetown townhouse later that evening, Cassie proudly calls the dinner a success, claims herself the winner of her bet with her godfather, and retires to her room happy and well-fed. Tony, having no energy whatsoever to disagree nor the desire to ruin his good mood, acquiesces to his goddaughter’s pronouncements, kisses her goodnight and goes to bed exhilarated and triumphant. 

That night, he dreams of blonde hair, azure eyes and the smell of old books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're welcome ;)
> 
> Oh, and this chapter officially ends the second arc of the fic! We're at the third and final arc now, so there's going to be a lot of plot moving forward. Buckle up, everyone! It's going to be a bumpy ride.


	13. Super Secret Spy Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this didn't take long at all! This chapter officially begins the third and final arc of the fic. I'm glad to be finally moving the plot along, and since I've already mapped how the final arc is going to play out, my only enemy to finishing this within the year at this point is grad school and procrastination.
> 
> As always, your comments keep me at the top of my game, and your love keeps me writing. Please please please do drop a word to tell me how you feel about this chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

_Somewhere in the outskirts of Washington DC_  
_November 2012_  
_Three weeks after Thanksgiving_

Clint and Natasha drive towards what seems to be an empty, rotting warehouse at the end of a dirt road off of Highway 270. It’s the dead of night, and from where they’re sitting, there is no sign of life. Their headlights are turned off, as they were instructed to do so once they had found the dirt road. Everything around them is still as they listen for anything that could give them a clue as to where they’re supposed to be headed next.

Suddenly, Natasha spots some movement by the front of the structure. “Over there,” she points, and Clint drives slowly towards the direction Natasha is indicating.

Clint stops the car some 60 feet from the entrance, where a man and a woman stand, guarding the opening to the inside of the warehouse. They both get out slowly and quietly, careful not to make any sudden movements to cause a commotion.

“Can I help you, Ms. Romanoff, Senator Barton?” the man asks, his voice deep and vigilant.

“We’re here for the card game,” Clint responds calmly.

The man gives his partner a terse nod, and she lifts his wrist to her lips. “We have Black Widow and Hawkeye.” She extends her arm towards the warehouse. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

They walk with her into the warehouse, their footsteps echoing in the empty space. It’s freezing, but Natasha and Clint try not to let the cold seep into their bones.

“I can’t believe my Secret Service callsign is ‘Hawkeye,’” Clint whispers to Natasha. “What does that even mean? Is that an actual bird?”

“It is what it is, Clint,” Natasha responds, her tone a mixture of slightly annoyed and slightly amused.

He pouts at her. “Well, you have no cause for complaint. Your callsign is cool. ‘Black Widow’—sounds like something coming out of a spy movie.”

“You’re being a child,” she tells him, but there’s a small smile playing about her lips.

“You would be if your callsign was Hawkeye.” 

They start to approach five black unmarked SUVs, and as soon as they reach the hood of the first car in the lineup, the doors of the second, third, and fourth ones open at the same time, as if on command. Secret Service agents come pouring out of the cars. Two men come out last, and they’re who Clint and Natasha are there for—the Vice President and the GOP Chair.

The Secret Service agents form a wide circle around the four of them, ensuring the Vice President’s security and giving them ample space to talk with some privacy.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Fury drawls.

Natasha crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “You called us, remember?”

Coulson buttons his suit jacket and tilts his head at her. “Good to see you, Romanoff. You too, Barton.”

Clint chuckles. “Just like old times, eh?”

Coulson responds with a smirk.

“I suppose you both know why you’re here,” Fury tells them in a bored tone.

Natasha shrugs. “To be completely honest, I have absolutely no idea why Clint and I are in the middle of nowhere after office hours. But the Vice President is here, so it must be important.”

Coulson tilts his head, a knowing smile on his lips. “Don’t play coy with us, Natasha. We know all your tells.”

Natasha smiles wickedly. “Oh, you do, don’t you?”

“Now, let’s all just calm down,” Clint says slowly, attempting to bring down the temperature of the situation. “How about you tell us why we’re here, Nick?”

Fury doesn’t miss a beat. “I want to know why you blindsided us with the Pierce case.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You knew about Pierce,” Coulson continues. “And chose to withhold that information from us.”

“What is this, a sleepover club? Am I supposed to share my deepest, darkest secret with you?” Natasha asks, her brows furrowing.

“We had an agreement, Romanoff,” Fury says, a threat looming behind that statement somewhere.

Natasha throws her hands up, disbelief clear on her face. “On what planet, Fury? We agreed to trust each other and then suddenly I’m supposed to put every bit of gossip I hear on a silver platter and hand it to you? Please.”

“You should be talking to your AG, not us,” Clint adds firmly. “One phone call to Danvers and your problems could have been solved—how hard could it have been?”

“The President likes to keep Danvers as independent as possible, but believe me she got an earful from him,” Coulson mentions. 

Clint shrugs. “How is that our problem, then? You dug your own grave, live with it.”

“Let me get this straight.” Natasha gives Coulson and Fury a hard look. “You couldn’t get the information you wanted from your own people, so you decided to browbeat us into submission.” She laughs darkly. “Classy, very classy, Fury.”

“For what it’s worth,” Clint presses, clearly irritated as well. “We sat on the information because we weren’t sure what was going on. The most important thing for us was not to jeopardize whatever operation Danvers was running at the DOJ.”

“Does sitting on the information include Stark meeting with Danvers and Rhodes?” Fury asks in distrust.

“Danvers is dating Rhodes, who is Stark’s best friend. Or did you not get the memo, Nick?” Natasha says with a groan, clearly tired of the whole charade.

“If Danvers and Rhodes are sharing information with you—” Coulson starts.

Natasha throws her hands in the air. “Jesus Christ, Mr. Vice President! Can’t a man meet up with his best friend and his best friend’s girlfriend without being accused of plotting against the sitting government?”

Clint sighs. “This is going nowhere. We’re leaving now.”

“We’re not finished,” Fury growls. 

Natasha gives him a steely, defiant look. “Yes, we are.”

They both walk away, intransigent and unbowed.

//

Once the engine starts running, Clint drives away from the warehouse as fast as he can. Natasha is tapping away at her phone, probably to inform Tony of how their meeting went. Natasha isn’t a text person, though, so Clint wonders why she wouldn’t just call their fearless leader to get it over with.

“Tash, why don’t you just call Tony?” he asks her.

She shakes her head and taps her ear.

 _They might be listening,_ is what she means. “Where are we off to?”

“Happy first, then Tony.” 

Clint nods. To Happy, so SHIELD Security can do a sweep of the car and take out any bugs that Fury’s or the Vice President’s people could have planted, and then to Tony for a debrief. It’s not unusual for Natasha to be oversuspicious, but after the meeting they’d just had, it’s necessary.

The drive back to city limits is quiet, just as it had been on their way to the warehouse. Clint grips on the wheel, eager to talk but not having any courage to do so. Natasha has always had this effect on him—he has always feared how much she meant to him, and has always, always been terrified of her rejection of his feelings towards her. The first time she dismissed him, it almost broke him. He doesn’t know if that’s something he can handle the second time around.

He curls that fear into a little ball and tucks it at the far corners of his heart. He has to do this, at very least just so he can move on with his life.

“Tasha?” he calls out quietly.

“Hm?” she responds distractedly.

Clint takes a deep breath. “I just...I wanted to apologize.”

Natasha tilts her head, perplexed. “For what?”

“For what happened between us last March.” Clint tries to wave it off as something inconsequential. “I was out of line and it affected our personal and working relationship.”

“Clint, you don’t have to do this.”

“But I do. I do feel like I have to do this,” he insists. “I don’t ever want to make you think that my work will suffer whenever my personal life goes down the drain. That’s not good for me, that’s not good for the team, and that’s not good for the party.” Clint sighs and glances at Natasha. She’s looking straight ahead, her face unreadable. “And I don’t like being a burden to the team—Tony and Kate especially, propping me up like I’m some weakling. It’s not who I am.”

“I know that’s not who you are,” Natasha replies softly. “And I never took your...feelings against you, Clint.”

“Of course you didn’t, and that's not what I'm saying at all. I’m just sorry that I put you in a difficult position. The same goes for Tony and Kate and everyone else who had to tiptoe around me because I couldn't get a grip.”

Natasha finally looks at him, eyes gleaming in the darkness. “You’re a good man, Clint Barton.”

Clint sniggers. “People have said as much. I still find it hard to believe.”

“Well, if anything, you can believe me.”

Clint doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

“Look at this way,” Natasha adds with a smirk. “If anyone’s listening in, you’d have given them some entertainment for tonight.”

Clint laughs at that, booming and genuine. “That I most certainly have.”

//

_Washington DC_

Happy drops them off at Tony’s with a SHIELD car some hour and a half later. It's nearly midnight—the picturesque Georgetown street where Tony lives is eerily quiet. The cold is sharp, oppressing even, and Natasha and Clint hurry inside the townhouse after thanking Happy for the ride.

“I’m usually a fan of being sent cryptic messages in the middle of the night, but strangely not if it's from you,” Tony tells Natasha as they take off their coats in the foyer. He looks tired, and not at all ready for the conversation they’re about to have, but he welcomes them in his home anyway, just as he always does. When they settle down and begin to warm themselves in the living room, Tony asks, “What happened?”

Natasha picks up a cup of tea on the coffee table, no doubt prepared by their host when they were enroute. “Clint and I met with Fury and the Vice President.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “In the White House?”

Clint rubs his hands before picking up his cup. “I wish. It was in the middle of freaking nowhere. I think letting us die of hypothermia was part of their plan.”

“Fury called me up this afternoon and asked—no, _demanded_ —for a meeting. Code green,” Natasha tells him. 

Tony raises his eyebrow even higher. “Why would Fury call in your super secret spy club when we're doing well? There's no insurgency from either radical ends of the parties to merit a code green. And with Coulson, too? What did they want, a dance showdown?”

Clint shrugs. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“Truly, if Natasha brought you along to this little soirée,” Tony says with a smirk.

“All jokes aside,” Natasha glares at Tony, “they're not happy that we had the Pierce case and didn’t tell them.”

“Were we...supposed to?” Tony asks, genuinely confused.

“Hell no,” Clint throws in, a little more animated than he was five minutes ago now that the warmth of the tea is permeating through his system. “They have the entire DOJ and the intelligence community at their disposal. We, on the other hand, only have people willing to commit felonies and a disembodied voice in your property on our side.”

“Some would argue that JARVIS is more useful than the DOJ and the entire intelligence community put together,” Tony points out.

Clint agrees with him. “Good point.”

Natasha snaps her fingers at them. “Focus, boys.”

Tony suddenly stands at attention. “Sorry, Nat.”

“Sorry,” Clint mutters.

She rolls her eyes. “What I was about to say before I was rudely interrupted was that I don’t think we were brought there so Fury and Coulson could scold us about not sharing our toys with the other kids in the playground.”

Tony crosses his arms. “What do you mean?”

“Do you recall exactly what Rhodey said to you when you met with him and Carol?” Natasha asks him.

Tony thinks on it for a minute, looking back on that morning that he had met up with Rhodey and Carol to have breakfast, and of course, to gather some intel. He replays their conversation a few times in his head, from the moment he mentions Pierce to the moment Carol slides the napkin with Parker’s name on it. And then it dawns on him.

Natasha smiles, so it must be all over his face that he understands what she means.

“Can anybody fill me in?” Clint says after a long stretch of silence.

“The military’s involved,” Tony says solemnly.

“This isn’t just about a corrupt Supreme Court judge, Tony. This is something much bigger.” Natasha is deadly serious.

“Can someone please explain to me how they came about with this conclusion?” Clint asks, frustrated.

“Rhodey knew about the case,” Tony tells him. “When we talked, he said, _‘We’re serious about this, you be careful moving forward.’_ He used ‘we.’”

Clint eyes widen in realization. “And Coulson said, _‘If Danvers and Rhodes are giving you information.’_ ”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “And we all talked about how the DOD could be involved too, if briefly in our first meeting here, remember? Dammit, how could I have completely missed that angle?”

“Doesn’t matter anymore. What matters now is what we do with the information that we have,” Natasha says, impatient. “I’m thinking weapons.”

“Terrorism, even,” Tony adds.

“Ugh, I’m so tired of this bullshit.” Clint burrows his face in his hands and rubs his closed eyes. “Why can’t these people just do normal crime shit like stealing from poor people or manipulating the market to steal even more from poor people? At least that I can yell about at work.”

Natasha ignores Clint’s whining. “You’re going to have to talk to T’Challa, Tony.”

Tony shakes his head. “I know, but I can’t initiate the meeting. Not if Fury is watching us.”

“You’re going to have to find a way,” she insists. “Because if someone is trying to figure out how to turn vibranium into a weapon, then we have to be ready with a good offense.”

Tony looks at her grimly. He sighs and nods. “I’ll make it work.”

“Involve the President if you have to,” Natasha adds.

Tony gives her a displeased look. “Jessica Jones is dating the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Why do we have to bring the President in when we have more than enough human resources at our disposal?”

“As a last resort, Tones,” Clint tells him straightaway. “He can’t be involved in all this until it’s absolutely necessary and we have exhausted all avenues.”

“I know that, Clint,” Tony snaps back, a little irritated. “But I’m not going to use him as a shortcut to getting what we want. It has taken me a very long time to build rapport with the White House and I’m not about to throw that all away just because I couldn’t get a meeting with an old friend.”

“Tony, I know you have a close relationship with Rogers,” Natasha starts. “But we do what we have to do. At some point he’s going to find out what we’ve been up to, whether it be from his side of the aisle or ours. You’re going to have to figure out which one is the path of least resistance.”

“He’s the President of the United States, Natasha, not a pawn in your chess game.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she challenges him. “ _We_ are all pawns in this chess game, Stark. And to win, we have to outplay the guy who’s trying to make guns with vibranium.”

Tony rubs his temples and sighs. It’s obvious that he’s very tired. “Look, you’ve made your point and I’m exhausted. Can we pick this up tomorrow when we’ve had a couple of hours sleep in us? Please?”

Natasha gets up without a word, clearly disappointed at Tony despite the lack of emotions on her face. Clint follows suit, but at little more sympathetic towards his friend. He puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder and says, “You know she’s worried, Tones. She looks to you to do the right thing because—“

Tony cuts him off, not wanting to hear the rest of it. “I know.”

“Clint,” Natasha calls out from the foyer.

Clint sighs. He squeezes Tony’s shoulder before letting go. “Get some rest, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tony gives him a tired smile. “Have a good night, Clint.” 

Clint returns the smile. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

Once outside, Natasha pulls her phone out to call a car, shivering from the unpleasant cold November weather. A few taps and a ping later, Natasha tells Clint, “SHIELD will have a car to pick us up in a couple of minutes.”

“SHIELD’s a security firm, Tash, not a car service,” Clint comments dispassionately.

“SHIELD is _our_ security firm,” Natasha responds, tone impassive. Clint decides not to question her.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on him, you know,” Clint tells her carefully after about a minute of silence. “He’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders, and we put it there.”

Natasha gives him a hard look. “He has to step up, Clint. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“You don’t think he’s done that? The guy looks like he’s about to keel over, and it’s only been three weeks since Thanksgiving. This investigation is sucking the life out of him. The man lives alone, Tash, with no one but a voice in the ceiling to keep him company. No, look at me.” Clint puts his hands on her shoulders, looking at Natasha square in the eye. “There are almost a dozen other members on this team, Tash. You have to trust the rest of us to do the dirty work for you. Tony can’t bear to disappoint you so he keeps saying yes, keeps pushing himself for you, because you forget that you have me, Pepper, Thor, Janet, Darcy, and Kate. Hell, even Wade will walk through fire for you if you ask him.”

Before Natasha has a chance to respond, the SHIELD car pulls up, and she gets in as fast as she can. Clint follows quickly, hoping to elicit an answer from her, but she’s looking away, and the deafening silence in the space between them means that the conversation is over.

//

_New York City_

“Are you sure about this?”

Foggy and Matt sit in a posh bar in the Upper East Side, sipping overpriced whisky while waiting for their contact to arrive. The bar is dark, the tables arranged in a manner that promotes discretion, which is why Matt chose it as their meeting location in the first place—a venue that his contact would be expected to patronize, without sacrificing privacy. He taps his finger on his glass, impatient.

“What time is it, Foggy?” he asks his partner.

Foggy glances at his watch. “About half an hour past midnight. And you didn’t answer my question. Are you sure about this?”

Matt chuckles. “One is never sure about women like her.” He pauses. Then, “She’s here.”

Elektra Natchios walks in the bar in a little black dress, her stiletto heels tapping on the hardwood floors. Foggy and Matt stand up to greet her. “I’ve been in town since October. I was wondering when you’d give me a call,” she says to them, mostly to Matt. They sit down. A waiter comes by and swiftly takes her order

“It’s been a busy couple of months for the firm,” Foggy explains.

“I heard. Catching the bad guys, saving the world, all that jazz.”

Matt smiles. “All in a day’s work.”

“That’s the Matt I know and love.” Elektra’s drink appears and she takes a sip, enjoying the smoothness of her favorite top-shelf tequila. “I assume this is not a social call. What can I do for you?”

Matt gives Foggy a curt nod. “We were hoping you could help us on a case we’re working on.”

Elektra tilts her head and gives both men an interested smile. “What would the daughter of the Greek ambassador to the United States have anything to do with a criminal case on US soil?”

Matt leans in closer. “We’re looking at something with potentially international repercussions.”

“And you’re looking at Greece because…?”

Foggy slides her a sheet of paper with a black and white logo. “The company Alchemax is registered in a dozen or so countries—one of them is Greece.”

“And it’s not registered in the US, so you can’t request for documents from the SEC,” Elektra finishes for him.

Foggy nods. “Basically.”

“Can I ask what the case is about?”

Foggy glances at Matt. His partner takes a moment, dips his head to think about the benefits of sharing sensitive information with Elektra. She is an old flame, and an old friend. They have a troubled, toxic history behind them, but it’s not one without respect, loyalty, trust, and love. Fire and ice, Foggy used to say.

But despite that Matt goes with the one thing that’s never let him down before—his gut instinct. “The Pierce case.”

The surprise is evident on Elektra’s face. “Now that is certainly unexpected.”

“It goes without saying that this information is confidential and stays between the three of us,” Foggy reminds her.

“I understand how these things work, Foggy,” Elektra tells him, a bit irritated at the insinuation that she can’t keep her mouth shut. She turns back to Matt. “When do you need this?”

“As soon as humanly possible,” Matt responds.

Elektra takes the last swig of her tequila. “I’ll see what I can do. But Matt, you owe me.”

“I always pay my debts. You know that.”

“That you do,” she says with a smug smile. She stands up to leave. “I’ll call you when I have something. See you boys around.”

After she the door of the bar closes behind her, Foggy tells Matt, “I wonder how she’s going to make our lives a living hell for the next year.”

Matt pats his shoulder. “It will all be worth it in the end, my friend.”

“Would you like to bet on that?”

Matt gives him a small, knowing smile. “Did anyone ever tell you never to make bet with a blind man?”

//

_Washington DC_

Tony finds himself pulling up in the driveway of the Executive Residence at nearly one in the morning. He gets out of the car, hands the keys to the Secret Service agent who opens his car door for him, and enters the residence with no welcoming committee to take his coat. It’s a routine he’s starting to get used to, one that he and Steve agreed on some days after Thanksgiving—to not bother the staff if Tony ever came to the residence at night.

It’s not the first time since Thanksgiving that he’s visiting the White House at an odd hour, but unlike the other two times, it’s Tony who picks up the phone and suggests the visit. He fought against the urge to go running to Steve after that short but taxing meeting with Natasha and Clint, but something had to give. It was going to be either his sanity or pride, and he chose to go with the latter.

And listening to his footsteps as he walks to Steve’s sitting room, he finds that there’s nowhere he’d actually be right now.

“Tony?” Steve’s head pokes out to the hallway.

Tony stops in the middle, gives him a sad smile and an awkward wave. “Hey.”

Steve steps out and beams at him. Relief washes over Tony. “Hey yourself. Come inside. I made tea.”

Tony clutches his chest mockingly. “A man after my own heart.”

The sitting room is warm and cozy, its fireplace lit and glowing. It’s very much a physical manifestation of its current resident—bright and wholehearted, all warm and earthy. Steve stands by the console table, clearly very happy to see him. Tony can’t help but loosen up and feel relaxed at the eager welcome.

Tony wastes no time in taking off his coat and drapes it over the nearest armchair. He walks over to Steve, with a cup of tea in his hands that’s clearly meant for him. Tony smiles at him, all worn out but glad to be where he is at this very moment. He takes Steve’s face in his hands and gently kisses him as a proper hello. “Thanks for having me,” he murmurs against Steve’s lips as he accepts the cup of tea.

“You’re always welcome here,” Steve says softly, smiling back. He strokes Tony’s cheek with his thumb. “You look terrible, by the way.”

Tony chuckles. “Thanks, it’s the new trend these days. You should try it.” He places his cup on the coffee table and flops down on one end of the sofa with a gigantic sigh.

Steve follows suit, sitting at the opposite end. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“No,” he responds honestly, his smile forced.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Tony rubs his eyes. “How can we talk about it without actually talking about it?” He hangs his head on the backrest and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t even try hiding how he feels: bone-tired and war-weary.

Steve notices this so easily, how the fatigue clings to Tony like second skin. “Come here,” he tells Tony, tapping on the space next to him.

“What are you doing?”

“Scoot over, come on.”

Tony shrugs, but does as he’s told. Steve takes hold of his shoulders and guides Tony down until his head is resting on Steve’s lap. Tony adjusts his body and swings his legs on the cushions, so he’s now lying comfortably on the sofa. Steve starts running his fingers through Tony’s hair and rubs his temples in alternate patterns.

Tony sinks into Steve’s touch immediately, releasing much of the tension that was holding his body hostage. “Mmm,” he mutters, his eyes closed. “That feels really good.”

Steve smiles, satisfied with himself. “When I was a kid I was very sickly, and whenever I’d get a fever this is what my mom would do.”

“If you keep doing that I’m going to fall asleep on your lap.”

“Good, that means you don’t go home and I get to keep you.”

Tony can only smile at that.

“Can you at least try to talk about it without actually talking about it?” Steve asks carefully, not wanting to disturb Tony’s peace.

Tony takes a deep breath, and allows himself to be lulled into a semblance of tranquility by Steve’s fingers. He thinks about his team and their frightening efficiency, their sense of duty, and their desire to seek the truth no matter what the cost. But mostly he thinks about fear, and what that cost might be if Jessica, Rhodey, and Carol were to get caught, if information about Parker were to fall into the wrong hands, if Matt and Foggy were to run into some really bad people on their search for answers. He thinks about fear and how he tries not to let it consume him, especially when so many trust him with their lives.

“The job scares me,” he finally tells Steve, his voice small. “When I said yes to this, I didn’t…I’m not a born leader, Steve. I’m not used to being responsible for so many people. I don’t want to disappoint any of them. I don’t want my decisions to put them in danger. I don’t…” Tony exhales and closes his eyes.

“If it’s any consolation,” Steve starts, “I feel absolutely the same way.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “I hardly think being Speaker of the House and being President of the United States have the same job description, Steve.”

“According to the Constitution, sure. But I believe the spirit of both positions is the same. The only difference is that I have the codes to our nuclear arsenal and you don’t. But then again, you have to deal with Congress every single day, so that makes us even.”

Tony laughs heartily, earning him a smile from Steve. “Well, you’re right about that.”

“By the way,” Steve says, after a minute or so. “I wanted to ask you if you could be my…I don’t know how to say this…escort? To the state dinner for the Italian Prime Minister.”

Tony’s brows furrow in slight confusion. “Did we already decide to have a coming out party without me knowing it?”

“No, no,” Steve says quickly, hoping to clarify things. “You’re not going as my official _date,_ just my…associate, I would say. I’m a bachelor, I don’t have a First Lady, and I could technically go stag but I really want you with there with me.”

“I don’t have anything against it, Steve, but these things are what gets the press to start asking questions we don’t want asked,” Tony points out.

“I know, I thought about that too. So maybe you could bring your own date? Like Pepper,” Steve suggests.

“I hardly think bringing an engaged woman as my beard would throw people off our gay scent,” Tony responds in an amused tone.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m only messing with you, Steve,” Tony teases. “I’d be honored to be your date to the ball.”

Steve smacks his hand playfully. “I also thought that maybe we could frame it as a bipartisan thing. The press already talk about our really strong partnership on legislative issues, and I think it could be the perfect time to exploit that. I had someone check with the Protocol office too, and they said they’re perfectly fine with it.”

“That’s…not a bad plan, actually.”

“I’ll have my press secretary hash out the messaging with yours as soon as possible.”

“But Steve, if we’re going through with this…” Tony trails off, not sure how to continue.

It’s Steve who finishes it off for him. “We’re going to have to tell our people about us.” He sighs. “Yeah, well, we were going to have to tell them sooner rather than later, anyway.”

“Might as well get it over with now and rip the band-aid.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Tony looks at him with certainty. “More than okay. Especially if I get to win Homecoming King.” 

Steve booms in laughter. “Sure, Tony. I’ll have a crown ready for you and everything.”

Tony laughs with him, his problems forgotten for a moment. He’s grateful for this precious time he has with Steve, despite the myriad of problems and challenges waiting for him outside of the White House walls. He will still have to deal with Natasha and her impatience tomorrow, and then maybe Jessica and whatever new intel she has, or perhaps Thor and any new information he might have on Loki. But tonight, he’ll pack all of those worries in a tiny box and set it aside in a corner of his mind. Tonight, he has Steve’s blue eyes and thunderous laugh. He has Steve’s warmth and his fingers running through his hair.

Tonight, if only for tonight, he has this.


	14. House Party Protocol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (White House/West Wing AU)  
> It's easy enough to hate those from across the aisle, but no one ever told them that it was bad news to fall in love with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh la la, another chapter, and it didn't take me months this time! Things are escalating and there's some excitement and intrigue in store for our favorite superheroes. Hope you guys have been paying attention in the previous chapters ;)
> 
> Once again, I really appreciate your comments! Your kind words have kept me going and I'd be very happy if you could keep sharing your thoughts with me. Thank you so much for sticking with this story all these years!

_Washington DC_  
_November 2012_

With the television as background noise, Tony taps away on his tablet, making notes on various pieces of legislation that he has had to put on the backburner. On the surface, things are business as usual for the Democrats and their associates, but behind the curtains, the investigation had escalated from a small house party into a rager with an entire high school of uninvited guests, thanks to Fury’s and Coulson’s sudden interest in his team’s extra-curricular activities. With that and all the new information that’s been coming in, Tony hasn’t had any time or energy to deal with his actual, constitutionally bound duties as Speaker of the House.

Which is a shame, because despite what he says about the House of Representatives in public, he does genuinely enjoy his job. He enjoys the challenge of finding solutions to difficult problems. He enjoys seeing that his decisions result in the improvement of American lives. He enjoys celebrating with his team when they win, and he most certainly enjoys lording their victories over sullen Republicans.

He hasn’t had the chance to do any of that recently, and the worst of it all is that he misses his team. Sure, he sees them regularly inside and outside of the Capitol, but because of everything that’s currently on everybody’s plates, they hardly have any time to be actual friends. He hasn’t even had so much as an after-work drink (non-alcoholic for him, of course) with Clint since Loki decided to stroll back into DC and throw their lives into chaos.

 _Stop whining,_ Tony tells himself. _You have no cause for complaint._ _Just get the damn job done and we can all go home._

He’s in the middle of formulating talking points for the current draft of the new banking bill when he hears a soft knock on his door. “Come in,” he says, not taking his eyes off his tablet.

Kate walks in slowly, careful not to disturb her boss. “Hey, Tony?” 

“Hm?” 

“I know you’re on blackout mode until after you’ve finished reviewing all the new bills, but there’s some commotion in the press office that I think you should address,” Kate tells him in a gradual, cautious tone.

Tony finally looks up from his gadget. “Why, what’s up?”

“Should I send Peter in?” Tony nods. Kate pops her head out the door. “Quill! The boss wants to see you.”

Peter Quill, Tony’s press secretary, walks in, extremely animated. He has a look that can only be described as a mixture of excited, slightly manic, anxious, and immensely infatuated. It’s a kind of look that would be creepy to anyone observing who didn’t know him, but to the people in Tony’s office, it’s just a typical, everyday Peter Quill look. 

“Hey boss!” Peter greets.

“What’s going on?” Tony asks in a tired voice. 

“Did you know that you’ll be accompanying the President to the state dinner for the Italian Prime Minister next week?” Peter asks cautiously.

Tony stares at Peter funny. Then, his eyes widen, and he lets out a groan. “Shit, I completely forgot about that.”

“What do you mean you forgot about that? How in the fresh hell could you forget about something like that, Tony?” Kate asks him, dumbfounded.

He gives his assistant a goading look. “Bite me, okay, I have a lot on my mind right now.” Tony turns back to his press secretary. “Did you get a call from Ororo Munroe?”

Peter nods vigorously, a manic smile on his face. “Yes! I just did!”

“Did you manage not to sound like an idiot over the phone?” Kate questions him.

Peter turns defensive. “Just because I admire the woman—“ 

“You don’t admire her, you’re obsessed with her—“ 

“—doesn’t mean that I can’t be professional—“

“—your phone wallpaper is literally a photo of her—“

“—or act in the best interests of this office—“

“—and you get that fucking glint in your eye every time she’s on TV, which is basically everyday—“

“ _Enough_ of this bickering!” Tony roars, and Peter and Kate shut their mouths immediately. Tony buries his face in his hands. “On a normal basis I would be extremely entertained by this pissing contest, but I just _do not_ have the patience for this right now.”

“Sorry, boss,” Peter murmurs. Kate stays silent, her eyes glued to the floor.

Tony sighs. “Are you heading to the White House to meet with Munroe?” he asks Peter. 

Peter clears his throat. “Yeah, this afternoon. She asked for a meeting to hash out the messaging for the state dinner.” 

Tony waves it off. “I’m not too worried about that. Just…keep your shit together. And if there’s something you’re not sure about, don’t give them a decision until you’ve come to me.”

Peter nods. “Will do, boss,” and takes his leave. 

As soon as Peter closes the door behind him, Kate starts, “Look, Tony—“ 

Tony holds his hand up. “Just don’t let it happen again, Kate. You of all people should know what I’ve been dealing with these past couple of weeks.”

Kate nods, muted and apologetic. She doesn’t say anything more, wary about antagonizing her boss further. 

“Did you have anything else for me?”

“Oh, yeah.” She glances at the post-it note in her hand. “Matt called. He said he’s back from Greece and that he’s coming to DC today. He has a souvenir for you, so he asked if you could give him a call so you guys could meet up.” She gives him a confused look. “I didn’t know Matt took vacations.”

“He doesn’t. It’s code.”

“Why does he need to speak in code?” 

Tony rubs his temples. “Natasha is under the impression that we’re being watched.”

Kate quickly begins whipping her head to examine Tony’s office, suddenly nervous.

“Don’t worry, I did a sweep this morning. We’re fine in here,” Tony reassures her. “Anyway, Natasha’s orders, so we’re taking extra precautions or else we die a most excruciating death.”

“How are you going to meet with Matt, then?”

“The safest place would be my house,” he notes. “But not just me—I’m going to need everyone there, so if anyone were watching, it would be pretty obvious if the team started showing up on my doorstep. I need a way to bring everyone in the same room without risking being followed.”

“Create a diversion, maybe?” Kate suggests with a shrug. “You could throw a house party.”

“That’s…actually not a bad idea.” Tony tilts his head, his interest piqued. He takes a moment to think. “Hypothetically speaking, how much time would you and Darcy need to be able to put together something convincing?”

Kate gives him a mischievous smile. “Give us six hours and a credit card and you’ll be throwing the party of the century.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “I shouldn’t have asked. Here.” He takes his wallet out and hands her the plastic. “Make sure to invite the staff of everyone on the team—House, Senate, DNC.” 

“You got it, boss.”

Suddenly, Tony is distracted by the TV. Steve is standing behind a podium in the Rose Garden, proud and dignified, beside him a very stern yet resplendent woman. He turns the volume up by a couple of notches as the President begins to speak.

“Is she…” Kate starts.

“Pierce’s replacement? Yes. That’s Jeri Hogarth,” Tony replies.

“Where have I heard that name before?” 

“Remember that high-profile sexual assault case in Empire State University a couple of years back? She ruled against the defendant, but an appellate court threw that out the window, proving once again that our justice system favors rich white boys.”

Kate’s eyes widen in realization. “She was the judge that sent Norman Osborn’s son to prison.” Then, she stops and takes a moment to think. “Did we even want her on the bench? I don’t remember the team discussing names for that seat, certainly not hers.”

“That’s because we let Clint and the rest of the Democrats on the Senate Judiciary Committee handle it,” Tony says indifferently. “The Republicans wanted Loki, naturally. Our pick, Jennifer Walters, was too liberal for them, to no one’s surprise. The committee settled on Hogarth—unpredictable at times, but moderate enough for both sides. So ‘want’ would be too strong a word. We’re just…able to live with it.” 

“Well, if that’s the case, then…” Kate trails off, hesitant to continue.

Tony looks up at her, his eyes concerned. “What’s wrong?”

His assistant sighs, the open and honest expression clear on her face. “We never talk about this stuff anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not saying this investigation isn’t important, but…” There’s sadness in her voice. “This wasn’t the job you were elected to do, Tony.”

Tony gives her a glum, long-suffering smile. “But it’s a job that should be done.” 

Kate doesn’t argue, and instead bows her head in resignation. “Need anything else before I go and try to put this party together?”

“No, I’m g—“ Tony stops in the middle of his sentence, an idea suddenly popping into his head.

Kate’s brow furrow. “Tony?”

With a cheeky glint in his eye, he tells his assistant, “Wait. I’m going to need you to make a call for me.”

// 

It’s been a tiring day, and Steve is just about ready to crash onto his bed and sleep until kingdom come. But there’s one thing he promised himself he’d do before he retires to the residence, and out of all the intelligence briefings and diplomatic calls and economic advisory meetings, this last task for the day is perhaps going to be the hardest. 

“You called for me, Mr. President?” Sharon stands in the doorway to the Oval Office, clearly exhausted but still ready to do her duty.

Steve tries to mask his trepidation as he looks at the only living person in the world who can understand what it’s like to lose someone like Peggy Carter. “Yes, Sharon. Please take a seat and close the door behind you.”

Sharon does as she’s told, and finds a comfortable spot on the couch in the middle of the Oval. He follows to sit across from her. There’s an awkward silence between them while Steve gathers his wits about him. Earlier in the week, he had told Phil and Bruce about the recent…developments regarding his relationship with Tony. It had been a pretty straightforward conversation, neither of them turning out to be that at all surprised with how things had progressed between the President and the Speaker of the House. Their biggest concern had been the press and how the story should be handled when the time comes, but Steve had waved it off, telling his Chief of Staff and his Vice President that they’d cross the bridge when they’d get there.

Telling Sharon, however, is another entity altogether. While Phil and Bruce are his teammates, Sharon is the only family he has left. She loved Peggy fiercely, and saw her as a role model growing up. They were both extremely close, treated each other like sisters, and when Peggy walked down the aisle to marry Steve, Sharon was right there with her as her maid of honor. Telling Phil and Bruce was all about strategy, messaging, and perception. Telling Sharon is all about love, loyalty and family.

He smiles at her nervously and coughs, not sure where or how to begin. Sharon looks at him expectantly. “Before I begin, I just want to clarify that this conversation is between an uncle and his niece-in-law, and not between the President and his Executive Assistant.”

“Is everything alright?” Sharon asks, concerned. 

“Yes, everything’s fine!” Steve responds quickly. “I just—god, there's no easy way to say this.” He rubs his temples and braces himself for what he's about to say next. “I'm seeing someone.”

For a moment, Sharon’s eyes widen in surprise. Then she laughs softly. “That's it?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘that's it?’”

“I thought you were thinking about resigning, or worse, had gotten sick! Way to give a girl a heart attack, Steve.”

Steve is even more confused. “So, you're not at all...bothered by the fact that I'm dating someone?”

“Why, should I be? Is she a clingy bitch?” Sharon teases.

 _It’s now or never,_ Steve thinks as he decides to take the opening. “I'm not dating a woman.”

That stops Sharon, the astonishment clear as day on her face. “Okay. I wasn't expecting that, but okay.”

Steve stares at her blankly. “You’re…okay with this?”

“Look, Steve,” Sharon starts, her eyes warm. “I appreciate you telling me. I know you're doing this because we're family and all, but really there was no need.” She sighs. “One of the last things Peggy and I talked about was you. She asked me to look out for you, make sure you'd be okay. She wanted you to be happy, Steve. She wanted you to have another chance at happiness and I'm glad that you’ve found someone deserving of your affection and attention, especially in the middle of all of this.”

“You're not bothered by it?” Steve asks carefully.

Sharon shrugs. “Why would I be? You _are_ happy, aren't you?”

Steve smiles at her and tells her with certainty, “Yes, I am.”

“Then that's all that matters to me.” She pauses. “Can I ask who it is?”

He doesn't miss a beat. “Tony Stark.” 

Sharon throws her head back and laughs loudly. “You don't do anything half-assed, do you? _Of course_ you'd be dating the Speaker of the House. Clearly, you have a type.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “I don't have a type.”

“Fiery, headstrong brunettes who will stop at nothing to do what's right and seek the truth, no matter what the cost? Yeah, you have a type alright.”

“I'll take it that you like Tony, then?”

“He's got balls,” she tells him with a playful smile.

“That’s for sure,” Steve responds absentmindedly. 

Sharon grimaces. “Ew, no Steve, I love you, but I don't need to know about your sex life.”

Steve blushes and tries to find his words. “Oh, god, Sharon, that’s not what I—we haven’t even—“ 

Sharon raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t banged Tony yet? Have you _seen_ the man you’re dating? The way he carries a suit _good Lord_ —“

“Please, that’s totally not what I—“ Steve struggles, all flustered and embarrassed.

Sharon laughs, clearly amused at Steve’s reaction. “Look at you, you’re so red. I’m just teasing you, Steve.”

He groans. “Why do you do this to me?”

She shrugs, grinning. “Because it’s fun, and someone has to keep you on your toes somehow.” Sharon then turns solemn. “I want to meet him, okay? That’s all I ask.”

“You got it.” 

Silence falls as they regard one another—Sharon full of understanding and kindness, Steve overflowing with relief and gratefulness. It’s a load off of Steve’s chest, and it feels like he has finally jumped over the final hurdle. Sharon must know this, must recognize how important this conversation is to him, because her eyes show nothing but tenderness.

Steve finally stands up. “Come here,” he tells Sharon, inviting her into a hug. Sharon accepts easily. “Thank you,” he tells her softly. 

“There’s no need for that,” she replies.

They break the hug. “Say hi to Danny for me, okay?”

“Will do.” She turns to leave, and before she steps out of the room, she tells him, “Say hi to Tony for me,” with a wink.

Steve laughs as she closes the door behind her.

//

By the time Tony arrives in his house at around eight in the evening, the party is in full swing. The entire first floor of his house is occupied by overworked government employees—he spots some staffers from Pepper’s and Janet’s offices in the kitchen, making what vaguely resembles to be guacamole; Natasha’s team from the DNC is milling about near the bar area with Wade’s people, controlling the flow of booze; and Clint’s and Thor’s tribes are scattered about in the living room and library, steering most of the conversation in the house. The atmosphere is relaxed, but there is an electric undercurrent powered by the hip-hop beats that Tony suspects Kate had put together for JARVIS to play in surround sound. He’s got to hand it to his assistant—not only is the party an acceptable cover for the meeting, it’s actually a rousing success. There is not a single bored face under his roof, and about half of his guests are close to being smashed.

Tony makes a round of the rooms, doing his job as host to greet people along the way. He finally spots his assistant in the library, leaning against the glass door leading to the garden, talking to some of the staffers from Thor’s office. Kate notices him as soon as he steps in the room and excuses herself from the conversation.

“How are we doing?” Tony asks her, his voice low.

“Everyone’s waiting in your workshop, as instructed,” Kate responds mutedly. “JARVIS is keeping an eye on them.”

Tony nods. “Good. Have you chosen a babysitter yet?”

“Two. Wade and Darcy.”

Tony’s brows furrow. “Wade? Are you sure?”

“He’ll keep everyone entertained, and she’ll make sure he doesn’t kill himself with alcohol poisoning,” she tells him nonchalantly.

He shrugs. “Fair enough. We’ll update them when we get the chance. Go ahead downstairs, I’ll finish my rounds and follow you in a bit.”

Playing host takes him around another fifteen minutes of schmoozing, so by the time Tony reaches his workshop, there is an air of anxiousness surrounding his various projects. Pepper and Jessica look impatient, each tapping a foot as he descends the stairs. Natasha sits beside Clint (surprisingly) with a bored look on her face (unsurprisingly). Thor stands protectively behind Matt and Foggy, and Kate and Janet lean against one of the metal tables, a little tense.

Tony extends his arms. “Miss me?”

“You wish, Stark,” Clint says with a smirk.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Let’s get this over with, boys. We don’t have all day.”

“Ooh, someone’s antsy,” Tony teases. “Do you need a drink?”

“Tony,” Pepper warns as Natasha cautions him in a dangerous tone with, “Stark.” 

Tony backs off. “Okay, okay, sorry for trying to lighten the mood. Murdock, what have you got for us?”

Matt walks towards one of the metal tables and takes out a file from his briefcase. They all congregate around him. “Thanks to our lovely Greek friend, we have more information on Alchemax.” He opens the folder and spreads out documents and photos so that the others can see. “It’s a chemical corporation that deals mostly with plastic packaging for agricultural, health, and personal care products. Well, on paper, that is.”

“What dealings does it have behind the curtains?” Thor asks. 

“Smuggling, mostly,” Foggy continues. “They disguise illegal goods and/or highly controlled substances with their packaging.”

“Sounds about right,” Clint adds, referring to the Ohio case. “But then that leaves AIM, and how it ties to Alchemax.”

“This is where things get interesting.” Matt signals to Foggy, who shuffles the documents around and picks out two sheets. “Alchemax’s main headquarters are in Johannesburg and they have no subsidiaries in the United States, but Foggy and I looked through everything that Elektra gave us and whatever was publicly available on AIM. We found one name that appeared in both files—Wilson Allan.”

Foggy points to the photo in the center of the pile. “Allan is the President and CEO of Alchemax, but he also sits on the on AIM’s board.” 

“Do we know what AIM does, exactly?” Pepper questions.

“Research, mostly. Biological, chemical, technological—you name it. Companies hire them for R&D,” Foggy answers.

“Let me guess,” Natasha cuts in. “Oscorp happens to be one of their clients.” 

Matt nods. “Yes, but that might not mean much. A lot of other big companies and even universities hire them to do research or augment whatever they’re cooking up in their own labs.” 

“I’m guessing Allan is based in South Africa?” Janet raises.

“Yes,” Foggy tells her. “But his daughter goes to school in New York.”

“Wait,” Jessica says suddenly. “Please tell me his daughter doesn’t happen to be Elizabeth Allan.”

“Yup, that’s her,” Foggy answers.

Jessica groans. “Shit.”

“Hoover?” Tony probes. “What do you have?”

The FBI agent looks at the expectant faces of this mismatched team, and sighs in resignation. “She’s the Jane Doe in the Harry Osborn case.”

Kate tilts her head, perplexed. “I thought the identity of the victim was sealed?” 

“Yes, but I’ve already committed numerous felonies for this investigation, what’s one more, right?” Jessica jokes blandly.

“Okay, wait a minute, this is really fucking me up,” Clint interjects, rubbing his temples in frustration. “This Allan guy sits on the board of a company that works for another company that’s owned by the father of his daughter’s rapist. Does that bother no one in this room?”

Pepper speaks up after a lull. “It makes sense, though.”

“How?” Thor asks.

“I’d have to agree with Pepper on this one,” Janet adds, nodding. “There was apparently some prosecutorial misconduct in the first trial and the ruling was overturned. It’s been a few years, but they’re still waiting for a retrial.” 

Tony smirks. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks that the retrial will never happen in this lifetime.”

“Not if the appellate judge is in Osborn’s pocket and Allan isn’t too hot about moving the case forward,” Natasha tells them dispassionately.

“Why wouldn’t he be? His daughter was raped, for crying out loud!” Kate exclaims. 

Thor crosses his arms. “Greed makes monsters of men, Kate. I would not be surprised if he traded his daughter’s dignity for company profit. If I may also venture a guess: Osborn threatened not only to pull his business from AIM, but to convince other companies to take their business somewhere else if Wilson Allan didn’t acquiesce.”

Jessica nods. “Which leaves us with more questions: if that’s the case, then which companies? Was the vibranium meant for Oscorp, or somewhere else? And how the hell did Pierce get involved in all of this?”

“To add to that: if we suspect that the vibranium is likely being used to make a new kind of weapon, what the hell is Oscorp doing playing with fire, or are we looking at the wrong direction?” Pepper adds.

“We’re getting close,” Janet says gravely. “Do you think this is why we’re being watched?”

“It might be,” Natasha answers honestly. “If we are being watched by Fury, Coulson, and their merry men, it will be because they don’t want us interfering with ongoing investigations, whether they be in the DOJ or the Pentagon. If someone else is watching us…then they don’t want us getting any closer than we already are.”

“Which reminds me,” Tony signals to Kate, and she hands over three small rectangular boxes. He gives them to Jessica, Matt and Foggy. “These are one-of-a-kind cellphones that I designed and made by hand—highly secure, with their own e-mail, messaging, and call applications, all of which are encrypted. Once you turn them on, JARVIS will guide you through the set-up process. No more communicating through your old phones. If you need to contact any one of us, you use these. Matt, I incorporated a small Braille keyboard in your model for typing and wireless earphones so you have hands-free access to JARVIS.”

The three murmur their thanks, awed by the piece of technology in their hands.

“Wow,” Jessica declares as she inspects her new phone. “This is really serious now.”

Tony shrugs and points to Natasha. “Boss’ orders.”

“So,” Clint cuts in. “Next steps, anyone?”

“We’re running out of time,” Natasha states. “We need to find an avenue where we can hit two or more birds with one stone before interested parties realize how far we are.” 

Tony gives Natasha a sly grin. “I have one.”

Thor chuckles. “Pray tell, Mr. Speaker.”

“The White House is hosting their first state dinner for the Italian Prime Minister next week, and if I’m not mistaken, some of us have already been handed invitations. I was hoping we could capitalize on the numerous human resources that the gala will offer us,” Tony schemes.

Natasha nods in consent. “Not a bad idea, Stark. T’Challa will be there, as well as other persons of interest and various major GOP donors.”

“Norman Osborn being one of them,” Clint adds.

“This is dangerous,” Jessica cautions. “If we’re being watched, then sure as hell all eyes will be on all of you during that dinner.”

Thor closes his eyes and thinks for a moment. “We have a week to prepare. It’s not a lot of time, but given the circumstances, we will need to make do with what we have.”

“It’ll be fun,” Clint says with a shrug and a smile. “I’m taking Natasha as my date, so our guardian angel will be watching over us.”

Tony looks at Natasha with an eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

“Someone has to keep you boys in line,” Natasha reminds them in a dull tone, completely ignoring the hidden meaning behind Tony’s reaction. “I’m assuming you’re taking someone with you, Stark?”

Tony gives her a brilliant smile. “Yes, and she’s a willing accomplice,” he answers, and says nothing more on the matter.

“Are we done with Alchemax for tonight, or is there anything else you guys would like to discuss?” Matt asks the group.

Natasha shakes her head. “I think we’ve exhausted everything that we can tonight. Matt, excellent work. Well done.”

Matt gives her a curt nod. “My pleasure.” 

“Why don’t you three head on up,” Tony tells Jessica, Matt, and Foggy. “We’ll just be a few minutes. I need to discuss a few things regarding Congress with my team.”

Once the three are clear of the workshop, Tony takes a deep breath and faces his colleagues with a bright, yet slightly nervous smile. “So,” he says nervously. “This might not be the right time to tell you that I’m kind of dating Steve Rogers.”

//

The party dies a little bit after midnight, and thankfully everyone who came had the decency to keep his house relatively clean—there was not much tidying up to be done by the time the last person had said their goodbyes. Kate bids Tony adieu after the last garbage bag is deposited in the trash bins outside the house, and Tony takes a very quick and very hot shower before flopping onto his bed out of sheer exhaustion.

He does, however, have one more job to see through before he allows himself to close his eyes. He’s saved the best for last, since it is perhaps the most important and most difficult of all the things on his to-do list for the day. He props himself up in a seated position and musters all the energy and courage he has left for this final task.

_Hey Stinger, you awake?_

_I'm a pre-med student and it's pre-finals week, what do you think?_

_Do you happen to have a couple of minutes for your godfather?_

“You're acting very strangely,” Cassie says as soon as Tony answers her call.

“I'm not,” he tells her defensively.

“I don't recall you ever contacting me in the middle of the night since, well, ever,” she points out.

Tony takes a moment to respond. “You're not wrong.”

“Okay then, blow my mind. Shoot.”

Tony closes his eyes and mentally prepares himself for the conversation he's about to have. “I'm going to the state dinner for the Italian Prime Minister next week,” he starts, slow and deliberate.

“O...kay?” she answers, confused. “I have no idea what this has to do with me.”

Tony coughs. “I'm bringing a date. It's going to be all over the news and I wanted to tell you before...you know.”

“Ooh, now you’re talking. You have my full attention. Please do go on.”

Tony says it quickly. “It's Rumiko.”

He can hear her interest pique at the other end of the line. “I'm going to assume you guys aren't dating again, because that ship sailed way back when I was eleven years old.” 

Tony rubs his temples. “No, we're not. But that's what the press are going to insinuate. I know you like Rumiko and keep in touch with her, so I wanted to give you a heads up.”

“But this isn't about Rumiko, is it?”

Tony smiles despite himself. “You're really too smart for your own good, you know that?”

“So what is it about, Uncle Tones?” she presses.

He takes a deep breath. “Steve asked me to accompany him to the dinner and, well…I needed a diversion.”

“You mean you needed a beard,” Cassie says bluntly.

“There's no easy way to put this but...well...yes.”

Cassie doesn't respond.

“Cass?”

“Uncle Tones.”

“Yes.” 

“Are you dating the President of the United States?”

“Yes.”

There is a long pause at the other end of the line. Then, “Holy shitballs.”

“Cassie?”

“I knew it.”

“What do you mean, ‘you knew it?’ How could you have possibly known?”

“Uncle Tones, I was present and conscious during that Thanksgiving dinner. No man who looks at your ass that many times is straight or, you know, _just a friend_ ,” she tells him matter-of-factly.

Tony is genuinely shocked. “You watched him?”

“I'm neither dead nor stupid.”

Tony pauses, hesitant to ask his next question. Finally, he gives in. “How many times did he look at my ass?”

“Eighty-seven.” Tony knows she's wearing that shit-eating grin she always has when she bests him in something. “But in all seriousness, Uncle Tones—he likes you. A lot. And that's coming from someone who has seen you through Rumiko, Pepper, and all the other heartaches in between.”

“Do you like him?” he asks her, his tone soft.

“'Course I do, Uncle Tones. You've never really had bad taste in dates, to be honest.” A beat. Then, “Does the team know?”

Tony sighs. “Yes, I told them earlier this evening.”

“How did _that_ go?”

“Well, Pepper wasn't surprised. Neither was Natasha. Clint, Thor and Janet that needed a little bit more…explanation. Other than that, it went as well as one could hope,” he describes.

Cassie chuckles. “Natasha didn’t have a fit?”

“I think she’s more concerned about containing the story rather than me getting my feelings hurt, if that’s what you’re asking,” Tony tells her with scoff.

“But…” Cassie trails off, unsure if she should continue.

When she doesn’t finish her thought, he urges her on. “What is it, Cass?”

“You’re happy, right, Uncle Tones?” 

Tony can’t help but smile at her concern. “We're still figuring all of this out, but...yes, Cass, I am happy,” he tells her honestly.

“Then that's really all that matters to me. I don’t care about the other things.”

Tony leans back against the headboard, suddenly very sentimental. “You're alright, Cassie Lang.”

“I was raised well,” she says gently. He knows she's smiling all the way in Cambridge.

“Goodnight, Stinger. Get some rest, you’ve been working too hard.”

“Goodnight, Uncle Tones. Tell Rumiko I miss her, and tell Steve that I may not have the Secret Service protecting me 24/7, but I’ll find ways to hurt him if he doesn't take care of you.”

Tony chuckles. “Will do.” And they both hang up. 

As he drifts away into a calm sleep, a final thought enters Tony’s mind: _you did right by that kid, Stark,_ in a voice that sounds strangely like Scott’s.


End file.
